Broken Wings
by Frigonfic
Summary: They cut her wings to tatters and shattered her to fragments of who she was. Picking yourself up to soar to a life anew is hard when they've broken everything you are. Fourth installment to 'The Girl Who Set the Spark'.
1. Wishful Thinking

Hello there! Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

Well, as you may or may not know, this is the fourth and final sub-story to Anxol's adventure - if you haven't read the first three, they are called 'The Girl Who Set the Spark', 'Panem's Angel', and 'Caged In'. For those who _did _read the first three sub-stories, a massive, massive thank you to all of you for sticking by for so long! It really is incredible to know that you've stayed with the story after all this time.

This story does take place in the book Mockingjay, so I suggest you read that book first. And, if you've read the previous sub-story, 'Caged In', you'll know that I will be following along with the book, though I will change a few things to accommodate Anxol's story. However, in this sub-story, I'll probably follow along with the plot a bit more loosely.

Well, not to delay you any longer! Here is the first chapter to the last sub-story!

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

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I constantly wonder why I wish so much.

Why do I wish for things that I knew were impossible?

Why did I daydream about things, hope that luck will shine on me, wish that my dreams will come true?

One after one, my dreams are knocked down. My wishes are burnt to crisps.

_Please let Enkol come back home._

He is dead. He has died in the Hunger Games. The only thing that came back was the burnt remains of his body.

_I wish I didn't have to go to the Capitol tonight._

But yet I loyally return every night, to keep my sister safe. I go every single night, even though I didn't want to.

_I hope Donnie will be safe._

Her screams must have come from somewhere. Jabberjays record noises. By those screams, it is obvious that Donnie is not safe.

I tell myself to stop wishing. Tell myself to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. Stop, because when your dreams are crushed, it will only hurt more.

When I wished for a hovercraft to come, and for Haymitch and Plutarch to pick us up, I honestly thought that something would go right for once. That my wish will come true.

But my wishes never come true. My hopes are always shattered.

Haymitch and Plutarch are not in the hovercraft.

President Snow is.

They put us in a small, dank, room.

There is nobody here but me, Peeta, and Johanna. Peeta is terrified, worried for Katniss. Johanna is defiant and rebellious, ready to take on anything the Capitol throws at her.

I forbid myself from wishing. To stop pleading to whoever is up there, because they are not listening, they have stopped listening seventy-five years ago. But I still let one last wish blossom in my mind.

_Please let Finnick be safe._

If Donnie is not safe, if I am not safe, if Peeta and Johanna are not safe, then at least Finnick should be safe. He must be safe. After all he's done, all he's been through. He must be safe.

Katniss, Beetee, and Finnick are not in the room with us. But that does not mean they are safe. They could always be put in another room, could always be just as endangered as we are.

We will only have to wait and see.

**.**

If there is anything good with being thrown into a dark, dirty cell, and used for torture, it's knowing that the ones you love are safe.

When the hovercraft lands, some Capitol guards drag us to a cell and throw us inside. Johanna and Peeta's cells are next to mine.

Peeta is not safe, even after all we did to protect him. Johanna and I are not safe, either, though we both knew that there was a risk of dying when we signed up for this.

Haymitch never mentioned anything about torture. We probably would have thought about what we were signing up for if he mentioned torture at the Capitol was a possibility.

Peeta still has a chance for the smallest sliver of safety. Because he is so close to Katniss, the face of the rebellion – or the 'Mockingjay' as Haymitch calls her – they might not do too much damage to him, spare him a little.

But there are only three cells. Katniss, Finnick, and Beetee have all escaped the arena safely. Donnie is not here, either. She must be safe, too. Flourishing in the underground District 13. Planning for the rebellion.

This is the only happiness that I can hold on to. The only bit of light in this situation.

I may be not be safe, but the others are.

I will sit and wait in this cage as the rebellion brews on; as long as they are not hurt.

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Thanks for reading!

Yes, I know this was a supremely short chapter, and I am so, so, so sorry for that. I've realized that in this sub-story, the chapters are quite odd in length; sometimes really short, and sometimes awkwardly long. I really do apologize for that! I'll try to add on to the shorter chapters, but I'm afraid I can't guarantee anything. So, so, so sorry about that.

Anyways, just as a heads up warning, there will be a lot of perspective changes in this sub-story between Anxol and Finnick, quite often happening within chapters. So, get ready to see more Finnick's POV on things - if you aren't too great with that, I really do apologize - sincerely, really - but that's just the way things are going to roll around here.

Oh, and one more thing: I'm assuming that you've all read Mockingjay, and know how it ends. This is the part where you guys can get your opinion in the story - how would you like the story to end? Finnick-wise, at least. I already have an idea in mind, but I would really really love to see what you guys think and write what you guys prefer.

Now that I'm done ranting everything and wasting your time, you can get on with your lives!

Any suggestions? Comments? Questions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review, or you can even leave a private message for me!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	2. Bait

Hey there! Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

Well, not to delay you any longer - here's chapter 2!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

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Finnick's POV

She's bait. They're all bait.

They won't kill her because I'm still alive, Haymitch tells me.

But what is the point of me living if she's tortured? She's all I have left – the only bit of happiness I have in my life.

The images of her being tortured, the very idea of her hurting, kills me.

I promised to protect her. I promised to keep her safe. I promised, and I failed. She is taken for torture while I am sitting here, safe and sound.

_I trust you. You are the only here that could possibly understand, could possibly keep this a secret. I trust you with her, and you have promised me to protect her. That is all I ask of you. _

How can I live with myself? How can I possibly forgive myself if she dies?

In the arena, when she left my sight, I knew it was going to be bad. When Beetee announced that the wire was cut, I almost had a heart attack. I searched for her, looked for her, but found nothing. Nothing but trees and leaves and humidity. There was no beautiful white figure that was Anxol. My Angelfish was nowhere to be found.

One cannon sounded. In that moment, my heart had stopped. No one knew whose cannon it was, whose death it signified.

It could have been her.

I ran into Enobaria. I tried to fight her, but all I could think of was, _what if she's dead?_

And then she screamed.

It was distant, far away, but I still knew it was her.

She was hurting. She was in pain. I was not there next to her, not there to defend her, protect her.

A cannon rings shortly after the scream, a terrible silence in the air afterwards. It hangs heavy in the air, like a weight that crashed onto me.

I thought it was her cannon. I thought she had died, left without me.

I thought I had failed.

But when the hovercraft had picked me up, Haymitch tells me that it was Brutus' and Chaff's cannon. She was still alive. Her heart beating. Her eyes seeing. Alive, even after all she's been through.

And for a second, I was relieved. She was alive. She didn't leave me. She was alive and breathing and blinking and hoping, and my Angelfish will swim back to me. She was alive and she will come back to me; she is just in the hospital and she will wake up and smile her beautiful smile and tell me how silly I was to think she would leave me.

But then Haymitch tells me that she was taken for torture, along with Peeta and Johanna, at the Capitol. With Snow. Their hovercraft managed to pick them up, and Haymitch did not settle his part of his bargain. We protected the Mockingjay. We even thought of a way to break the force field of the arena and get the tracker out of Katniss. But yet, Johanna, Peeta, and Anxol are at the Capitol, suffering and dying. Haymitch had said we would all be at District 13, planning the rebellion. Together on our path to victory.

But three of our team members are bleeding and screaming. I knew, right from the very start, whatever District 13 shows to the Capitol about the soaring Mockingjay Katniss, showing about the rebellion, about our defiance, Snow will only torture them more. With every move we make, we are endangering them more. Haymitch knows this fact, crystal clear, but he says we have to go on with our plans. When Katniss steps into her role as the Mockingjay, they will have to show propos to the Capitol, show the injustice and the unfairness of his rule, and how we will burn him down. And when we do, Snow will only take out his anger on the three of them. On Anxol. I know this. Haymitch knows this. He says the show must go on, but I say that his lover isn't being tortured by the monster we call our ruler.

And again, I have that vertigo feeling. That nasty feeling in my stomach that churns whenever I try to imagine what they're doing to her r_ight this very second _while I sit and do nothing.

Snow is a monster, an unforgiving, heartless man who has the power and the authority to torture her in every way possible. She is a traitor in his eyes, and he will punish whoever comes in his way. My own imagination cannot even create a vision terrible enough, and my heart twinges when I realize that she is living in a nightmare right this very moment, without me to protect her, without me to hold her, to wake her up and tell her everything is okay.

To be the wall she needs. To keep her safe. To protect her. She is alone and with a monster, and he will kill her when he is satisfied, or bored. She will die and I will have to deal with the guilt of not being strong enough to be there for her. To rescue her. She will die by the hands of Snow, right after suffering, being tortured, in front of the person who took everything away from her.

_Keep her safe. Protect her, please. _

I have failed.

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Thanks for reading!

Ah, yes. Another short chapter.

I ONLY BEG THAT YOU MAKE MY DEATH QUICK.

Just kidding. Well, hopefully you guys won't be coming over to my house to spear me alive, but, well, you never know. The second short chapter in a row! Argh. I am so sorry. Really - two short chapters in a row? That's pretty terrible, in my opinion. I promise, promise, _promise _that the next chapter will not be as short.

Sorry ):

Well, at least I don't have any bad news accompanying this short chapter, like I normally do when I post a sucky chapter.

So in this chapter, you see the first glimpse of Finnick and how he's dealing with it all - what did you think of that?

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to leave it as a review! And remember, if you want your opinion on the ending of Mockingjay and how it will affect this fanfiction, please submit it as a review or even leave me a private message - your idea/opinion/suggestion will most definitely be taken into consideration. So in a way, you get to pick how this story ends (:

I think that's all I have to say.

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	3. Guard

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

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"Tell me what the rebellion planning!" Snow commands.

"I'll never tell." I breathe, smiling my old Capitol smile through the blood. My face bleeds and the pain from smiling burns my flesh, but seeing the anger in Snow's face at my defiance erases any pain.

"Very well." Snow glares at me, eyes filled with burning, uncontrollable madness. "Bring in the drill."  
They shackle me to a table, stomach first. I can't move my legs or arms, and they have even shackled my neck like some kind of dog. I try to fight them off, but it's no use. It's never any use.

A malicious whirring starts up from somewhere behind me, and I squirm, panicked, trying to escape.

It's exactly what Snow says it is – a drill. It cuts through the skin in my back, and I howl in pain. It cuts deep, but it's careful not to damage any nerves or my spine – they don't want me to be paralyzed – if I am, I won't be able to feel the pain any more, and what's the fun in that?

The drill continues to bore into my back, blood pouring from the freshly made new wound. I scream in agony, incapable of containing it.

I scream, unable to stop. Hysterical, maddening. The pain overtakes me, overtakes my mind, body, sanity. There is nothing left but the pain and the bloodcurdling screams I can let out. In between my screams, I hear Snow laugh.

"Panem's Angel, indeed." He cackles, eyes glinting with dementia. "And every angel needs its wings."

**.**

There is no 'worst part'. Every part of it was equally torturous.

Of course, there was the actual physical torture. The torture that cut through to your bones and made your body scream out in pain, until you felt like it was impossible that you were alive anymore; there's no possible way that such pain could exist.

And then there's the waiting torture. The waiting for your turn, waiting for a guard to open your cell door and drag you to the next horror. The waiting is just as agonizing. I can hear Johanna's screams through closed doors – something that cuts through me – Johanna has never, ever screamed before. It is a sign of weakness. Something she refused to show, something I thought it was impossible for her to show. Screaming is weakness.

But to us, it is a sign of pain.

I hear Peeta's scream, and every yell of suffering, every scream of agony reminds me _I have failed._

I was supposed to protect Peeta.

He screams out Katniss' name. _Katniss, Katniss, Katniss _over and over again, like some terrible recording stuck on one track. He whimpers at night, and he never lets go of her name.

The screams echo through the dank rooms, making it impossible to sleep – which isn't possible anyways. The screams echo in your mind, making your heart race, wondering what they are doing to them now, and what they are planning to do to you next.

**.**

When they throw Johanna back into her cell, she cries. I can't hear it, but I can see the gleam of tears on her dirt-stained cheeks.

I whisper to her, pour out ridiculous stories about the Capitol. The silly secrets I learned from the despicable citizens. My voice is cracked and dried, but still quiet enough for the guards not to hear. She laughs, a broken, cracked laughed when she hears some of the secrets I have guarded.

And though her laugh is brittle and broken, it is better than the tears that drip onto the cold dirt floor. Johanna's laughs make me smile faintly, and I finally realized what Finnick meant when the secrets would help me one day. Perhaps it won't help me much, but if it makes Johanna smile, then it is enough.

**.**

Peeta screams Katniss' name over and over again whenever the guards take him out of his cell. Over and over again, loud, shattered. He whispers her name when he's in his cell, even when he's sleeping. Her name is an anchor to him; an anchor that will bring him to her.

One day, he stops. He is thrown back into his cell unnaturally quiet, and I crawl over to the bars near him when the guards close the doors.

"Peeta." I whispered softly, though my head is dizzy from Snow hanging me up and smashing me towards walls and spikes as hard as he can. "Peeta, Peeta."

My lips are cracked and dry, and I can taste blood on my teeth and lips. Blood is running down my forehead, staining my skin and hair. There is so much blood that I almost forgot what color my skin was. My joints are sore and every part of me feels like it is being stabbed by a million knives, even when I am doing nothing. Every part throbs painfully, stinging, biting, burning, squeezing, everything.

But yet, I still cling onto the bars next to Peeta and call for his name. A chant. A hope.

He finally turns to me, his bright blue eyes dull and unfocused. Dazed. He twitches erratically and he no longer whispers Katniss' name. It's eerily silent, until the guards unlock Johanna's prison next to me and drags her out while she screams and yells. Peeta's blue eyes flicker to Johanna and something like confusion and mistrust crosses his eyes.

And I know something is wrong. They have done something to him, a wound that cannot be seen. Taken away what he knows, what is real. All day long, kneeling in my puddle of my own blood, I whisper to Peeta everything I know about Katniss Everdeen as Johanna's screams fill the air.

**.**

I can writhe in agony. I can pass out from blood loss. I can still scream, and still fight, no matter how feeble my attempts are.

But most of all, I can refuse to say anything to Snow. I am no traitor. I will stay loyal.

I can still imagine.

I can imagine Donnie and Finnick, safe, alive, flourishing in the underground District 13.

_Safe. Safe. Safe. Safe._

They are safe. That, I do not need to imagine. It is all I need to get through the screams, get through the next round of whatever the Capitol throws at me.

Remember the good things. Remember. Remember. Remember.

Finnick on the beach. Donnie asking me questions. Finnick teaching me how to swim. Donnie trying to cook. Sleeping with Finnick, his arms around me. Donnie's smile, so innocent, so pure.

Donnie's light blue eyes, inquisitive and curious.

Finnick's bronzed skin, protective and safe.

Donnie's snub nose. Her long hair. Her pink cheeks.

Finnick's piercing eyes. The smile he saves for me. His warmth and protection.

Remember. Remember. Remember.

The Capitol cannot take away your memories.

The Capitol cannot take away the ones you love.

The Capitol cannot take away who you are.

They cannot take away twin moments with Enkol. They cannot take away the stories my parents told me. They cannot take away Donnie's smiles and questions. They cannot take away nights in Finnick's arms, days spent on the beach with him.

They cannot take away Finnick. They cannot take away Donnie.

They cannot take away who I am. They can try and replace me with Angel, but I am not her. I will never be her. They cannot take away Anxol. Anxol is selfless, and that is who I am.

Remember. Remember. Remember.

This is all you have left. Do not let them take that away from you, too.

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Thanks for reading!

A somewhat decent-length chapter at last!

How did you like this chapter; a small glimpse of what's going on at the Capitol. What did you think of it?

A massive, _massive _HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Sweet Corruption, who has been reviewing since the beginning! Thank you so much and I hope you have/had a fantastic day! I would say that this chapter is a birthday gift, but I don't think a chapter about torture and mistreatment is exactly an enlightening birthday gift... but, happy birthday anyways! All the best to you! (:

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review or send it as a private message.

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	4. Guilt

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

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Over, under, through the loop. Pull. Around, across, loop. Over and over again. A simple one I learned as a child. A complicated on that even the best fishermen cannot do properly. Over, under, through the loop. Pull. Unravel. Repeat.

My hands are busy. But my mind is not.

What are they doing to her now? Are they mutilating her?

They are hurting her. They are hurting her, and I can't protect her from them. I can't do anything, can't stop them, can barely stop myself from thinking the worse.

My hands are sore from tying the rope over and over again. The rope has burned my flesh, but it is nothing.

Nothing compared to what they could be doing to her now. Nothing to what she could be facing right now.

Time passes. It seems to drag on slowly. I notice every second she is not here. Every moment, even fraction of a second that she is not next to me, that she is not safe, that she is hurting. I notice. And each second feels like a century, endless.

The nights are the worst. My arms are empty where she should be, my mind haunted by the distant scream I heard from her in the arena. My brain multiplies that scream by a million, and I know that it's still not enough to match up to the screams she's letting out now.

I can't sleep.

Donnie and I stay together. She was taken in a week or two after I was, gaunt and skeletal. She saw me, and started looking for Anxol. How heartbroken she looked when Haymitch explained to her that not everybody made it out of the arena to District 13.

She cries every night, unable to sleep, too. Donnie tells me that she took refuge in the outskirts of District 5 when the riots started erupting, moments after the Games ended. When the Peacekeepers stepped in and started shooting. When the air was filled with electricity and rain, and when there was silence after the cracks of thunder. Donnie tells me she walked for miles and miles, staying in the forests and huts, leaving District 5 immediately. Lucky for her she saw a few rebels in the area, ready to help the people of District 8 - where she ended up - and they took her back to District 13.

We spend the nights together, only sitting in restless silence. It is strange, Anxol not there between us, smiling. She cries in my arms, sobbing about her Sissy, her Annie who gave up everything for her, who was suffering because of her. It takes everything I am to not cry along with her.

She is hurting like me. I am hurting like her.

But she has not seen what the Capitol is capable of doing. Her mind cannot imagine the horrors of what they are able to do, and I am. The visions cloud my brain while hers is still sunny.

But at least Donnie has something to occupy herself with. A few good meals later, she is quickly realized as a genius after fixing an electrical problem no one else could. Beetee, quickly realizing her skill, recruited her to help him. She is often found with Beetee, helping him, learning more. At least her mind is occupied, unlike mine.

"Is that Anxol's little sister?" Katniss asks me one day, as Donnie and Beetee walk by. Donnie's smile is faint as Beetee chatters on about something. Thinking about Anxol, but not sucked in the depths of madness like me.

I only nod, my fingers flying trying to tie a tricky knot.

"Anxol's a lot like you, in some ways, you know." I manage to say. What are they doing to her now? Is she in a cell?

"How?" Katniss asks.

"For starters, she's as protective as you." I continue tying my rope. "She'd do anything for Donnie. She gave everything up for her. She loves her like how you love Prim."

Do they electrocute her? Does she cry in her cell? Does she think of me? Does she hate me for leaving her? I can see her, drowning in a puddle of her own blood.

Katniss nods slightly, grey eyes troubled. Her eyes are a dark coal grey, and Anxol's are a pale cloud grey. Would I ever see them again?

"Why didn't Haymitch pick her to be the Mockingjay?" Katniss asks me, and her voice holds doubt and curiosity.

So Haymitch told her.

"She wasn't good enough." I said bitterly, remembering how her eyes swam with tears . How she thought she was worthless; only good enough for Capitol men. "She didn't set Panem on fire, like you did. She only set the spark."

Her long white-blonde hair. Her real smile, the glint in her eyes. Her laugh, her squeals. Her jokes and her pensive stare. Her restless determination and drive, her selflessness and her empathy.

Will I ever see her again?

Will I be able to live with myself if I didn't?

**.**

Anxol's POV

I am property of the Capitol.

I am property of the Capitol.

I am property of the Captiol.

They force this into my head, make sure I know this. They remind me every single day. There is no way I can forget.

I am property of the Capitol.

They let men on me, five, ten men. I am coated in blood and wounds, but they do not care. Their sick minds can only register one thing:

Prey.

They are the predators, and I am their easy prey, spread out for them. An easy meal.

Snow burns the message into me.

_I am property of the Capitol._

I almost believe him. The pain forces me to believe what Snow is saying, forces me to feel what I do not want to.

But Finnick's words are sealed in my brain.

_You know who you truly are._

Those words, from so long ago, during my Victory Tour. Before Finnick and I ever kissed, before every night spent together. Even then, he knew me. Not the Capitol people. They do not know me. They cannot tell me who I am, what I can do.

_You know who you truly are._

Snow can burn his message into me. He can set all the men in Panem on me, and remind me over and over again that he owns me. That I am his property, the doll he strung up.

But Finnick's message will always be stronger.

_You know who you truly are._

I am Anxol. I am not Angel. I am not property of the Capitol. I am no dog that they can put a leash on. I have electrocuted their arena. I have set the spark that led Panem into a blazing inferno.

I am Donnie's older sister. I am Donnie's protector. I am Enkol's little sister. I am Enkol's twin.

And even though these men take and use me like I am their own, their property, I know that I belong to Finnick and Finnick only, heedless of what they do to me.

I am his. Only his.

The thought makes me smile as I slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

What did you think of the chapter? Like it? Hate it? Let me know (:

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestion? Feel free to leave it as a review!

As per usual, the next chapter will be up tomorrow!


	5. Secrets

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Finnick's POV

Secrets.

It's all I have.

Secrets from the Capitol. Secrets that I have earned from my job.

Anxol told me the secrets she has found, too. We shared them, days where we laughed over the absurdity of the Capitol citizens, or pieced together a puzzle we didn't know existed.

I hoard all the secrets in my mind.

We are above ground, filming 'revealing' speeches for the Capitol, right after they had bombed – or tried to bomb – District 13.

Katniss has finished her speech. Haymitch and Plutarch urge me to make a speech, too.

I have nothing to lose. And I have everything to share.

So I make the speech. It's not planned, not rehearsed. It's the truth.

"Snow would…sell our bodies." I begin, my fists clenching at the thought of Anxol right now. Writhing. Foaming. Dying. "Both Anxol and I."

"Anxol had a twin brother, Enkol, who was a tribute in the 68th Hunger Games. Before he died, he told me something." This is one secret I haven't even told Anxol. I couldn't find the moment to, couldn't bring myself to tell. One secret we haven't shared. But now is the time to let Panem know the first step of Snow's terror.

"He told me that his family came from a different place." I stare at the camera, the words foreign in my mouth. "Not Panem."  
Everybody gasps. No other place but Panem exists. If it did, none of us have heard of it. It seems almost impossible to imagine another place except for Panem. If someone wasn't listening before, they definitely were now.

"He told me that it was someplace far away from Panem. Someplace beautiful." I try to shorten Enkol's description. White and beautiful, he had said. Crystal snowflakes and pale blue skies. Trees that stretched out to hold you safely and mountains that reached the heavens. No Hunger Games, no fighting, no ruler. Only a small town that worked together; a town where everyone was friends with each other. To this day, I cannot imagine a place that he has described. I cannot imagine a place without the Hunger Games.

"When that place flooded, their family escaped. They found Panem. They took refuge in District 5. District 5 welcomed them in and kept them safe."  
I remember Enkol, pulling me into a room the night before the Games. He made me sit down, made me listen. He told me he trusted me. He told me he remembered though Anxol did not. I didn't believe him at first, but he showed me his token, a beautifully hand carved small statue of a howling wolf. The carving was so precise, so detailed. He unscrewed the wolf's head and out tumbled tiny crystals. Jewels, I realized. Tiny, pale jewels that glimmered and shone every color when the light hit it. I had never seen it before, never seen anything like that before. Nothing like that existed in Panem.

The tiny jewels, the beautiful small statue combined with his strange looks - it fit. And as crazy as it sounded, I believed him. I searched for years and years, looking for the same jewels as his. They weren't in the Capitol, the black market, or any other district.

"Enkol had made me promise him to keep Anxol safe." My voice wavers and cracks. I failed. I broke his promise. The only thing he asked of me. The last thing he wanted for his family, for the sister he loved.

"Enkol told me that the Capitol found out who they were. They killed his parents and he told me that they were going to kill his sisters next." I continue, breath shaky. "They were going to Reap all of his family, kill them off, one by one."

They wouldn't kill them off in an explosion or a fire. They want all of Panem to see this family's deaths, to see them dead, televised. Entertainment with an underlying warning.

Someone gasps softly, but I don't pay attention.

"He had known Anxol was next. There was no one he loved more in the world than her." I remember the fondness in his eyes when he spoke of her. "He knew Anxol was capable of taking care of Donnie, their younger sister. But he didn't know if Anxol could survive the Games."

I take in a shaky breath. The words are familiar in my mind, but foreign in my mouth.

"The Capitol killed Enkol with a lightning bolt. The Capitol killed their parents when they electrocuted them in a freak accident, punishing District 5 for letting their family take refuge. But Anxol had fought back the Capitol, gave them a taste of their own medicine and electrocuted the arena and killed all the tributes with the lightening."

"She won. Snow was going to kill her off, make it look like an accident even though she was a victor." I confess, remembering the secret I heard. How I remembered the details of Snow's plan, of her gruesome death just for being born somewhere else. "I begged Snow to spare her. I let him sell my body again if he'd let her live."

"Originally, when I first won, I turned down the offer." I pause. "Snow killed my whole family."

More gasps, some tears. As if they couldn't believe Snow would do something like that. Don't they understand that he has no limit? No heart? No conscience? He will do it, and without any hesitation.

"Everyone but my mother. I accepted the offer to keep her alive, but she later passed away." I close my eyes shut, remembering the silence when I walked back into the house. The stiffness in the air when I found her hanging in her room. The note she wrote, tearstains on the paper. She couldn't take what I became. What I did for her. What I had done. Out of all the children I've killed, the murder of my mother was the one I could never erase.

"I was then allowed to break Snow's offer. But then Anxol won, and I had promised Enkol to keep her safe. I allowed Snow to continue selling me." I knew I was being stupid, selling myself again when I had a way out. But I remembered the desperation in Enkol's eyes, and I remembered my little sister who had eyes like my own. I would have wanted someone to protect her, wanted someone who would keep her safe if I knew I was going to die. I would have done the same. I told myself I was doing the right, humane thing. After all I did, I wanted to know I was doing good, doing something that didn't make me a monster, an animal.  
I pause slightly. Haymitch motions for me to continue. Everyone's eyes are glued to me, in a horrified fascination.

"But then I figured out Snow was selling her, too." I remember my anger when she nodded in confirmation. I remember how I thought I had failed. I was not protecting her. I was not shielding her from this world. "My offer with Snow only let Anxol live. It didn't reach out to her younger sister, Donnie. Anxol sold herself so that Donnie would live."

I then tell all of my secrets. Now is the time. Every single one, aimed maliciously at the Capitol like a stab from a knife. About Snow and how he reached his power. Poison. We figured that one out together, piecing together what we had learned to uncover the scandal of a generation.

I spill all of the secrets that Anxol learned from the Capitol. Silly or not, they will wound whoever we heard it from. It could ruin lives - no, it _will _ruin lives. This is the _least _I could do to them after all they have done to me. Her. Us.

We will do damage.

It's the last thing I can do for her.

**.**

After the interview, Katniss comes up to me. We've been talking together more often; we each know what the other is going through. The look on her face says it all.

"Did you think that we were sleeping acquaintances?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Katniss nods. "I'm sorry, I – "

"It's alright." I cut her off.

"Do you love her?" She asks quietly after a moment's silence.

_Do you love her? _Mags' voice is warped and distorted, nothing like her usual soft tones. This voice sounds almost taunting, though it speaks her words.

_If you really love her, why aren't you doing anything to save her? _The nasty voice in my head speaks again, loud and clear, ringing in my head. _If love her, you would be flying to the Capitol right now to take her back instead of wondering what they're doing to her now._

_Do you really love her? _

"Of course I do." My voice breaks as I wonder what she's feeling now. "At first I was only selling myself because it was the right thing to do. Filling out a dying man's last wish."

Katniss nods.

"But then it became the _only _thing I could do." My fingers are moving erratically now, furiously tying a knot and forcing myself not to think of her. I can't. She takes up my mind, visions and images. "She doesn't deserve it, Katniss. She really doesn't. All she does is think of others and protects Donnie. She never stops to think of herself, to think about what would be good for her."

I do love her. That's why they took her away from me; they knew I loved her and they knew that this is the worst kind of torture they could inflict on me. I love her, and my love has cost Anxol her freedom.

Tears start falling from my eyes and I abandon my rope. Sobs come out of me, large, wracking sobs that I can't control.

"God, Katniss. She does all these things for others and there was nothing I could do for her. It was the only thing I could do, Katniss. I could only protect her, and now I can't even do that." I cover my eyes in shame. Failure. Failure. I have failed her, failed Enkol, failed Donnie. I have failed her family, failed myself.

Katniss awkwardly pats my back, unsure.

I can only cry; my promises shattered, my secrets spilled, and my heart empty.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Surprised? I decided I might as well add something special to the plot - or something like that. Sorry if Anxol coming from somewhere else was kind of random/unrealistic/terrible - I thought of the idea off the top of my head and kind of just went with it. I think I may have dropped a few hints in previous chapters in previous sub-stories that Anxol may have come from another place, but then again, I'm never too sure about what I'm writing half the time. What did you think of it? I'd really like to know!

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	6. Broken

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**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

I scream until my voice breaks, unusable.

Out of all the torture that Snow has inflicted on me, after all the days of countless things done, this is the worst.

Before, I didn't think there was a worst thing. I thought everything was equal, at least something balanced. Something in this world balanced, though it isn't right.

But there is a worst. It is introduced to me, shattering me. It crumbles me to pieces and Snow laughs at my remains; even kicks them and watches as I try in vain to piece myself together.

Snow has found my weakest point. He is playing it to his advantage and to my misery.

He wants me to tell him everything I know about the rebellion. He wants to break me to find the answers. He wants to shatter me to pieces. I am close, so close.

It would be so easy to give in. So easy to make it all stop, to make all this suffering cease with just a few sentences. A few words. I could stop this. I don't have to do this, don't have to go through this anymore.

It's all you have to do. Just open your mouth and form the words.

But I am no traitor. I am no snitch, and I will not betray the secrets that I hoard. I will not let Snow get the upper hand, will not be the reason why this rebellion ended before it even started. I will not let my words become the reason for hundreds, thousands of deaths of good people who only wanted a better world.

People like me. Dead. You're selfless, Anxol. Think of the people. Think about what's best for them. Don't do it. Selfless, remember? Lay down your life for others. Shut your mouth and grit your teeth; you're a victor. Pride. You've faced the horrors before.

But the horrors of the Games are nothing, _nothing _compared to the personal torture that they create just for you in the Capitol. A torture that is meticulously crafted out to make you break, make you crumble, make you shatter to a million pieces. No, this is a horror that I've never faced before, and one I wish I would never have to face again.

The guards take me out of my cell. They tie me to a post and make me listen.

Listen to Donnie's scream. Listen to Enkol's scream, as if he was still alive. They make me listen to Johanna and Finnick's screams, too, for good measure.

They put a headset on me. It's impossible to take off without a key. Over and over again, their screams ring in my ear, screams of pain and agony. I can't block them out. I can't do anything but listen to them, listen to them in pain.

I tell myself the words of Beetee in the arena after the jabberjay incident. District 3 has machines, technology, that can manipulate the voices of humans. To make them say anything you want, warping who they are with just the smallest slivers of their voice.

But it doesn't work. Beetee's reassurances are weak, and the screams are strong and piercing. They rip through me, shred me. My imagination takes over. Paranoia swallows me whole. I can hear them scream, and I can only imagine all the 'what-ifs' and all the things that could have gone wrong. For all I know, no one is safe. No one made it to District 13. And they could all be dying right now, and I can't save them, can't protect them, can't help.

There's nothing I can do. Helpless, weak, crying.

I scream out, too, tears running down my face. When Snow sees that this is the thing that can hurt me the most, _this _is what will break me, he does not stop.

He moves on from just listening to seeing as well.

The headset has a new component – a visor. Somehow, Snow has managed to take the smallest of clips of Donnie and Enkol and transform them into something gruesome. He takes the clips of Johanna from interviews, and with the massive amount of Capitol features Finnick stars in, it is not hard to make visions for him.

He makes me watch Enkol die, over and over again, in a new, brutal way, while I can do nothing but watch. I know Enkol is dead, he is dead and gone and in a way, safe, but it still hurts. I see him, alive again, details and all right before my eyes, only to be shredded into pieces when a muttation tears him apart. My own reflection, bleeding and dying in front of me all over again.

He makes me watch Donnie suffer, watch her get Reaped, watch her get put into several different types of arena and die violently every single time. My precious baby Donnie. The last family I have in this world. All I have done to shield her, protect her, useless. Dying, dying, dying, _dead_.

He makes me watch as he takes clips of Johanna and kills her as she tries to fight back, though they are rare, they still pain me. Johanna, going out with the same furious manner that I've seen her fight in, resisting, failing. Rebellious, haunted Johanna, and even though I can see her in the cell next to mine, she is still taken out every few hours, and I can only pray that each time, it will not be her end.

He makes me watch Finnick die, make me witness his vicious end, make me useless in saving him. My salvation, my haven, my wall, crumbling in front of me as I sit back and watch, helpless. The anchor that holds me down, the ocean that carries me away. The light in the darkness, and the night sky that covers out any hurt. Dying in front of me, perishing, eyes pleading for mercy as I watch, unable to save him.

I scream their names until my voice is completely gone. I cry endless tears, wishing I could drown in them. Wish I could stop feeling so _helpless _in protecting the ones I love. Wish I could stop being so weak, so pathetic that I can't stop these scenarios from happening. But wishing, has never, and will never, do me any good.

Every single time, when Snow is satisfied with my pain, he will ask me the same thing.

_What are the rebels planning?_

And every single time, I will not respond. I do not have the will or sanity to reply with a witty retort; only tears and uncontrollable sobs, the ones I had left, dead in my eyes, last screams in my ears.

I watch Finnick get disembowelled. I watch Johanna slowly bleed to death, twitching. I watch Enkol get mauled by mutts. I watch Donnie get crushed by a boulder, all of her bones broken.

A new scenario every day. Several scenarios every hour. A new one every single time.

Soon, I do not need Snow's headset to see the visions, to hear the screams.

Guilt, fear, helplessness, paranoia; they all create them for me. It's as if Snow's headset has been permanently infused into me after being locked in it for so long.

I can see them every time I close my eyes. I can hear them wherever I go.

I am broken.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Poor Anxol ):

But, alas, it has to be done (not really, but it plays out in later chapters - you'll see). What did you think about Anxol's new torture? About what it does to her?

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to leave it as a review, or even leave a private message for me!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	7. Disbelief

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**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Blood pools from under me. Hunger gnaws at my stomach. The visions plague my brain.

Just another day. Another countless day. They are all merging together now, until I am sure life is nothing but a big cycle of crying, bleeding, and screaming.

But something new happens.

Instead of the cell door swinging open heavily, the cell door silently squeaks open.

I look up, eyes wide and fearful. The figure is dark and silent, like a ghost ready to scare me. Like Death himself taunting me, telling me it is almost my time, but no, he will let me suffer a little more because he likes hearing my screams and watching me twitch.

What are they going to do to me now? What have they planned out? What new vision will they inflict on me now?

I start screaming in panic. What will they make me see now? I don't want to see it, don't want to…

A hand clamps over my mouth. Tears start flowing down my eyes. I can't remember a time when they weren't anymore.

Donnie, headless. Enkol, frozen like fish, unmoving. Johanna, burnt to a crisp. Finnick, disambiguated.

I don't want to see, don't want to see, don't want to see. I don't want to hear their final moments, their pleas, their moans.

I scream because the visions come to me anyways, whether I like it or not. I can hear the _swish _of the axe as it severs Donnie's head from her body. I can hear Enkol's last breath as his organs slowly shut down. I can hear Johanna's scream above the crackling fires. I can hear Finnick's moans as he slips into death.

They are in front of me, dying. There is nothing I can do. Nothing I can do to save them. They are all dead, dead, gone, gone forever, and it's all my fault.

Someone carries me gently away, and I stop screaming, but I keep my eyes closed.

This could be a trick. They could just be pretending to be nice to me now and then lead me to another horrific vision. They want my guard down. This is only a trick. Only a ploy. I don't want to see it, they can't force my eyes open.

The visions cloud my eyes. The screams echo in my head. I am vaguely aware of sunlight piercing my eyes, someone wrapping a blanket around my naked body.

It isn't until a familiar voice speaks to me that I open my eyes.

"Anxol? Anxol, remember me? It's Johanna." The voice says, so achingly familiar and not howling for mercy.

I open my eyes, hesitant. The light pierces my eyes like needles, and I squeeze them shut again. It takes me a while to open them fully, blinking, unused to the strange brightness after so long in the dark cell.

It's Johanna. Alive. All pieces of her body together. Not screaming. She has no more hair. Her skin is bruised and bleeding, dark circles underneath her eyes. Because she is alive, because she is not screaming, I think this is the most beautiful I've ever seen her.

"Johanna?" I whisper, my voice dry and hoarse from the screaming.

She nods. "We're going to District 13 now. To the rebellion. Remember the rebellion?"  
She doesn't talk to me like I'm five. She talks with a tired but happy voice, but still slightly concerned.

I nod slowly, the memory of the rebellion and Haymitch's plan rushing into my brain again.

"Back to Finnick, Anxol."

I shake my head, not daring to believe it. Finnick? He seems so distant now. Like a memory, or a figment of my imagination. I can't picture him without blood surrounding him, screaming, crying. Impossible.

"It's true." Johanna smiles, slightly dryly as if she'd read my mind.

"Really?" I whisper. Finnick. Smiling. Alive. Tanned skin, bronze hair, green eyes. Intact. It almost seems too good to be true. I hope this isn't some cruel joke, that I won't wake up and find myself back in the cell again.

"Really. Now why would I lie to you? We're on a hovercraft there, now. The rebels saved us." Johanna leans back and smiles, but it's slightly bitter.

I look around, really look around for the first time. It's not the Capitol hovercraft, dark and dank. It's blissfully clean. District 5 was clean, too. I can see metal beams criss-crossing the top of the hovercraft, so shiny I can see my reflection. The girl looking back has matted, dirty hair that used to be white-blonde, but was now a sickly shade of grey. Overlarge pale grey eyes that almost look white next to the black and purple bruises on her face. Cuts, gashes, welts, burns, criss-crossing her body like red paint. Purple, yellow, green, blue, black bruises blooming on every part of her like flowers; swollen and throbbing. Her skin is faintly grey-tinged, barely stretched over her bones; every bone prominent and much too obvious. She's wrapped in a white blanket; swathed in it, almost.

My first thought that this girl looks like a skeleton. My second thought is that this girl is now me. The third is about the blanket, and suddenly remembering why I was wearing it; and not the old, tattered arena jumpsuit like Johanna. And I remember what Snow did to me, what he let his men do to me.

And I want to jump in the ocean and wash this dirty feeling away.

"You have quite a loud voice, you know." Johanna says wryly, snapping me out of my thoughts of the rushing ocean and Donnie drowning in it. "Got me and Peeta worried there."  
"Is everyone okay?" I ask quietly. I don't want to imagine Peeta's body broken and lifeless, having to explain to Haymitch and Katniss what happened.

"We've been better." Johanna laughs at her joke.

I'll take that as a _yes. _

Now, I can hardly contain my excitement. We were saved. We were all okay. We were all going to District 13.

I can see Donnie again. I can see Finnick.

I break out into a smile, and it feels strange. I haven't smiled in a long time, and it feels foreign to me. But it feels nice to just know there was a real reason to smile again. Like a song I haven't heard in a long time.

When the hovercraft lands, I am first to get out. I find it slightly strange that Peeta is hanging back, but it doesn't matter to me.

I am close, so close, to seeing them again.

Safe.

Alive.

The best reassurance to the nightmare that I've been calling my life for who knows how long.

The doors to District 13 open, and I am pushing my way to the front, standing on the tips of my toes, not bothering to be polite or gentle.

There is only one person I see.

"Finnick!" I cry out, and I speed towards him, breaking through the crowd. Alive. Alive. He looks so real, so solid, and it feels impossible. After so many weeks of seeing him in front of me, dying, it seems impossible that he is standing mere metres away from me, hope and joy in his eyes.

He's solid. Real. I have to reach him before he disappears, before I wake up and find myself back in the cell. I need to hold him and tell myself he is real.

Finnick. Alive. Finnick. Safe. _Finnick. _

I run towards him, and practically crash into him. We crash into the wall behind him from the force of our collision, a mess of bodies and limbs holding each other tight. He doesn't fall; only lifts me up and holds me close, until there is no more space in between us.

He whispers my name over and over again, as if he still didn't quite believe it. But he holds me tightly, his arms protective and safe. I hold on to him as tight as I can, clinging on to him. His lips taste like the sea, something I thought I had forgotten. They are soft and longing and I can barely contain myself. This is no illusion or vision; Finnick is here with me and his lips are on mine. His arms curl around my waist tightly like he never plans to let go.

And for once, I finally believe myself when I say that everything will be okay.

**.**

"So Donnie said that she had to help Beetee with another propo, and that she's really, really sorry that she can't be here." Finnick explains to me.

I nod, still smiling. The feeling is getting more normal now, so easy with Finnick around.

"Did I ever tell you," he softly kisses my forehead, "that you're beautiful?"  
I close my eyes and blush. I treasure his voice, his smile, everything about him. It's unbelievable that I'm back in his arms.

He only smiles and kisses me some more, his lips on mine, feeling like the best thing in the world. And all at once, all of Snow's tortures, all of the visions, all my fears, they dissolve in the air as if they had never existed. Finnick is the cure, is my lifeline, my anchor.

We stay like that until some rebel comes up to us awkwardly.

"Um, Anxol? You need to go to the medical centre for a check up." He says nervously.

Finnick and I break apart, and he holds my hand, leading me to the medical centre.

He holds my hand like he never wants to let go.

**.**

Finnick's POV

She's back in my arms. She's alive.

She ruefully lets go of my hand when we reach the medical centre. They say that she has to go in by herself. I wait outside the door, mildly irritated but overall ecstatic.

She kisses me softly on the lips before she goes.

I've missed it so much. I've missed everything about her. It seems surreal that she's back.

If this is a dream, I don't think I ever want to wake up.

I wait outside the room, just smiling, thinking about her and how things could change in just an hour.

All of a sudden, a scream pierces through the air.

It's a scream I'm familiar with. It has haunted my dreams for the past two months, but hearing it in real life makes it a thousand times worse.

"Open up!" I roar, pounding on the door, on the verge of breaking it down myself. She's inside. Screaming, hurting. And I will not sit back and watch.

The door clicks and unlocks, and I barrel in.

She's curled up in a ball, in the corner, rocking back and forth. Her hands are pressed to her ears tightly and her eyes are squeezed shut.

"What did you do to her?" I growl dangerously to the doctors in the room. I stare at each and every one of them, waiting for one of them to fess up and tell me they hurt her. They hurt her. I will hurt them.

"N-n-nothing! I swear!" One of them stutters. "It's her mental health. The Capitol must've damaged it."  
I glare at them one last time before going over to Anxol.

She whimpers slightly as I advance, her eyes still closed, tears streaming down her face.

"Anxol, Anxol, it's me." I whisper softly in her ears, gently prying her hands away from her ears. "Don't worry. Everything will be okay. I promise."

She stops rocking and slowly removes her hands from her ears. Slowly, her eyes open, revealing a haunted look in her pale grey eyes.

"Finn?" She asks quietly, voice shaky and disbelieving. As if I was a ghost that would disappear at any second.

I nod and carefully help her up. She slowly stands up and grasps my hand tightly, giving me that same haunted look, but with a spark of relief in her eyes.

I hold her hand and lead her out of the room.

"Wait – Mr. Odair – she still needs her ointment." A doctor stops us. Anxol whimpers slightly and shrinks behind me.

I take the jar from his hands. I lead Anxol out again, and she relaxes as soon as we step out of the room.

She squeezes my hand tightly. I squeeze it back.

**.**

Anxol's POV

The visions overtake me, like it did in the cell. I can't help it. I can't stop it.

But with Finnick next to me, the screams go away. The visions disappear. He replaces them. They are gone, vanished.

He will protect me from them. He is my wall, my shield.

He smiles when I ask him where we're going.

It isn't until I hear another familiar voice did I finally understand Finnick's strange cryptic smiles.

"Annie!" Donnie cries out, running straight for me. I pick her up and lift her up, just like how I did when I was Reaped.

She cries into my neck while Finnick watches us with a large smile on his face.

"You're okay!" She sniffs, her voice muffled in my neck.

"Of course I am." I smile.

"I thought you were going to die." Donnie whimpers quietly, her eyes shining with tears.

"You can't get rid of me that easily." I wipe her tears away.

"I'm so proud of you." I whisper. Donnie, who had escaped the grasp of the Capitol. Who was clever, and hid or whatever she did to get here to District 13. My genius baby sister.

Donnie chatters excitedly, telling me about all she has learned from helping Beetee.

"Oh, Sissy! I forgot to tell you – I have my own compartment now." Donnie enthuses. "Beetee sometimes needs me to do experiments in the middle of the night, so he thought I should get my own compartment."  
I nod and smile. "As long as it's nothing too dangerous."

"It's not, I promise." Donnie smiles.

She tells me the exact directions to her room, and then she leaves to complete another experiment. But she still gives me a tight, reassuring hug before she leaves.

Finnick scoops me up in his arms.

"I guess that means you're rooming with me, then." He grins, his voice playful like it was when we were on the beach. As if nothing had happened in these past few weeks. "Come on, Angelfish. I'll show you around."

He picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and runs through the halls despite my feeble protests, already the playful, loving man that I fell in love with. I thrash around and hit him half-heartedly, but I am laughing too hard to do anything else.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

YES! AT LAST! No more sad torture chapters! I am really, really, really sorry if I spent like the last six chapters making you all sad and unhappy and basically depressed. It is really hard for me to write happy material for Mockingjay - well, simply because it's Mockingjay, and there's not too many things to be happy about, at least in Katniss' point of view. So, I apologize if there are a bunch of really sad chapters. Really. I just can't help it.

So, finally - Finnick and Anxol are reunited! What did you think?

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review!

(And once again, I am really, really sorry for all the sad chapters. Seriously. Like, extremely sorry. You have no idea.)

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	8. Scars

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**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Finnick's POV

It feels like she's never left.

She talks friendly small talk to Katniss, and laughs with Johanna. She plays with Donnie and speaks to Beetee. Though, there is no doubt that there is something different about her. Sometimes she braid's Donnie's hair over and over again, or stares at Johanna for too long. Sometimes she shakes though it's warm, and sometimes she looks as if she just saw a ghost.

Everyone who came back from the Capitol is different. Johanna and her shorn head. Anxol and her terrified glances. Peeta - and, well -

We still have no update on Peeta yet. He tried to kill Katniss, and now she's hospitalized and he's being restrained. The rebels have questioned Anxol and Johanna if they heard or saw anything the Capitol did to them, but of course, they didn't.

Anxol and I visit Katniss, who was in hospitalization, but awake. Katniss says she's glad that we're together, but she's still upset about Peeta. Her eyes are filled with hurt, pain, and jealousy - yes, jealousy - whenever she sees Anxol and I.

Sometimes, I catch Anxol staring off into the distance. Her eyes get haunted and troubled, and I wonder what is plaguing her thoughts. What the Capitol did to her. What kind of scar they left on her.

Once, Gale made the mistake of mentioning one of his snares while she was in earshot. She didn't scream, but her hands were clamped to her ears, eyes squeezed shut, and shaking her head as if she wanted to get something out.

It was easy to coax her back, just a few whispered words and her eyes were opened again. But there was no denying it – the Capitol did something to her – something psychological, and it damaged her. And we don't know what it was, what it is, and how to fix it. Anxol won't say a thing about it, and none of us coax her into speaking about the terrors of what she went through. She doesn't have to relive them again.

I have to tell her about Enkol's promise – I can't keep it from her forever – but I'm afraid that she won't be able to handle it.

She is not weak. I know she is not. But I am worried, wondering what the Capitol did to her. I don't know if I want to find out.

That night, we head over to my compartment, bounding almost - until we reach the drab compartment that I've been calling my own for the past two months.

"Time to put on the ointment." I announce, opening the jar that I left on the table and sniffing it gingerly. It smells minty, fresh to the point it makes my eyes water. What kind of wound needs this kind of medicine?

She pouts, but I see that she's shaking faintly. From the fear of seeing for the first time, what they really did to her in the clear daylight. I won't lie - I'm shaking too, but she doesn't need to see me scared now.

I bring her to my arms, and she sits down on my lap, her head nuzzled into my neck. She takes a few deep breaths, as if she was about to submerge underwater. I can feel her whole body trembling, and I know she does not want to see what damages the Capitol did to her. I don't either. But we have to heal her scars, and the fastest way is by putting the ointment on.

I help her slowly lift her shirt up, and when I do, I almost gasp out loud.

Gashes. Riddled all over her back, overlapping, most of them still fresh. They are all a bright, angry red, some of them still bleeding. They all are going to scar; the best of them having bumpy, sensitive scabs covering them. The worst are pulsing and bleeding, the flesh clearly showing; the wound deep and purple.

But that's not the worst of it.

On the top part of her back, stretching out and carved in, was a pair of angel wings. The gash looks deep, barely healed. It was carved in, detailed, each feather seen. The pattern was intricate, slashing into her back like she was nothing but an unfeeling canvas for a sick, sadistic artist. The wings stretch out, as if trying to lift her to freedom. The white of her skin make the white of the feathers, but the blood pouring out of the detailed slashes taint them.

I felt anger bubble up inside of me. They took the name they gave her at the Capitol and carved it into her, as a mockery. Who they forced her to become. Who they replaced her for.

I trace one of the lines gently, and I can feel her shudder.

"Do they hurt?" I whisper, a pointless question. I should know the answer.

"No." She lies.

I know she is lying, but I don't comment on it. Instead, I start covering each wound, each scar, each cut with the ointment. She doesn't scream out, but she grasps my arm tightly, almost painfully. Her nails dig into my skin but she looks as if it didn't hurt her at all. As if she didn't undergo over a month of torture with a heartless monster. She is more thick-skinned than what the rebels see her for.

"Now time for the front." I say lightly, trying to keep my tone light but almost afraid of what I'll see next. I can barely contain my anger for the Capitol.

She turns on my lap, slowly, carefully, until her stomach was fully exposed.

There are more scars on her stomach, long and painful, but that's not what catches my attention.

On the side of her hip, burned in, was the Capitol seal.

They branded her. Like she was some sort of animal that did their every bidding.

Property of the Capitol.

I clench my fists in anger, unable to hold in my fury for the Capitol any longer. Not after all they did. To Panem. To everyone. To me. To us. To her.

Anxol only looks at me with sad misty eyes, and gently lifts my face up to her, so that I am looking at her in the eyes. I cannot erase the fury that shows, cannot pretend that what the Capitol did to her - physically, I'm not even counting what they did to her mind - does not anger me. No, I will not sit back any longer.

"I hope you don't think any less of me." She says quietly, eyes closed, forehead pressed to mine. Her breathing is ragged, as if she just ran a race. There is no doubt that the ointment stings, that she is hurting, that she is in pain from trying to recover. I hold her a little closer, careful not to brush any of her cuts or burns.

"I would never." I whisper back, though my anger is boiling. I wanted to charge to the Capitol right now and spear Snow with my trident. Break him apart with my own two hands like he broke her. Make him cry and relish in his tears, but knowing that this is nothing, _nothing _compared all he's done. My own mind can't think of a punishment terrible enough for him.

I gently kiss the seal burned into her skin, as if that would make it heal faster.

"Can I be property of Finnick Odair now?" Anxol smiles faintly, rubbing at the seal on her hip as if it would disappear.

I kiss her gently on the nose and watch as she closes her eyes as if she was imagining something delightful.

"Angelfishes aren't anybody's property." I grin, trying not to stare at the scars riddling her body. "They roam around the sea and swim all day."

"And you're okay with that?" She arches her eyebrow, her smile faint. Her eyes, which we previously so hollow, so filled with hurt, are now shining with the faintest rays of her old self.

"Just as long my Angelfish comes back to me." I grin, holding her close, as if she was about to swim away.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

So, what did you think? Did you like the chapter? Hate it? Let me know!

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As per usual, next chapter up tomorrow!


	9. Feeling Death

Thanks for clicking & reading!

Well, for this chapter, I decided to write it in Donnie's point of view. So basically, it is everything that happened to her starting from the beginning of this sub-story. It was an amazing suggestion given by _Dear Reader-we're book addicts, _so thank you for that idea!

Not to delay you any longer! Here's the chapter!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Donnie's POV

I have seen too much killing.

Children, who are just like me, killing one another.

Men killing children. Killing women. Killing other men.

People killing for freedom. People killing for war. People killing for survival. And people killing for fun.

And my own flesh and blood, killing men twice her size. My own Sissy, my Annie, taking away the life of another.

And though I have seen too much killing in my twelve year old life, I am glad that I have not killed myself.

But I wonder, what is worse: to be the one killing, or the one witnessing? The one dying, or the one watching?

That's an easy question, I tell myself. I chastise myself for being so stupid to even wonder, even if it was just for a second, who has the worse position.

The answer is simple.

Everyone has it equally as terrible. There is no upper level, no consolation for anybody. Because killing affects everyone, reaching out to every single soul around it. Tentacles whose grip is impossible to be freed of. A dark hole that sucks you in. A monster that you can't hide from.

Killing is a game, you see. This is what I have learned. Killing is a game that nobody wins.

**.**

I have only ever seen death on a screen.

Blood that spurted from holes punctured by swords. Organs that spilled from ripping gashes. Bodies that are mauled beyond recognition. I have seen it. Seen it all.

And murderous children that cause this death, so thick in the air.

I've seen the glint in their eyes, the metal in their bones. I've seen the snarl on their lips and the blood in their smile. I've seen the way they kill, almost as if they hold death in their hands, and whoever is touched will be killed.

I thought I saw it all.

I've never seen death right before my eyes. I've never smelt it in the air. I've never felt the loss of life in front of me, as if something in the air was missing when their heart shut down. I've never heard the faint gasp of air as the earth shuddered from one more lost life.

At least, not until two months ago.

You'd think watching the Hunger Games ever since you were seven years old would make you prepared for death. You'd think that having an older sister who has killed, has avoided and created death herself, would prepare you for death in front of your eyes. You'd think studying it, examining it, analyzing it, would make it easier.

It doesn't.

The first time I had seen death right before my very eyes was approximately two months ago, exactly 26 minutes after the Third Quarter Quell abruptly finished.

It was a chilly night, I remember. I don't know if it was because District 5 is drafty, or if it was because my older sister was not here to chase the demons away.

But I remember, in shock, seeing my sister run away from the flames that threatened to engulf her. I watched as her and Peeta scrambled for cover, though it was clear to everyone that safety was no longer a term that existed in that arena.

And then the screen turned black. Burnt black, with a sizzling _zap, _as if all the electricity disappeared. I stared at the screen for a few minutes before my mind started working up again. And though my mind reeled, buzzing with worry, frantic panic, and fear, I didn't move.

It wasn't until the first gunshot that I started to run.

It shook me, the sound of a gun in the frosty night. I had never heard it before, never even wondered what it sounded like. And now, I'm upset to know that I know all too well what a gun sounds like. What death sounds like.

I had packed what I could. Food, clothes, water - and then I ran. I would've went through the front door, but something in the window caught my eye.

White, blended in with the darkness. Just the smallest glimmer of it, faint in the dark; there for one second and gone the next.

Peacekeepers.

And I saw them surrounding my house, and I saw my teacher, Mr. Elwin, running. He was my favourite teacher in school; the one that I would always stay back to talk to, who seemed to know everything about anything.

He was running, waving his arms, so unlike the calm, warm, collected man he normally is. He was shouting something, his voice piercing the night, louder than any gun.

_Don't kill her! If you have any shred of humanity left in you, don't kill her! She doesn't deserve this! She's only a child, dear God, she's only a child! _

But it felt like I was the only one who had heard him.

His eyes met mine; I was hiding behind the curtains, slinking into the shadows. Mr. Elwin always said we had the same eyes - and when I was younger, I didn't understand. His were a warm chocolaty brown, and mine were a pale sky blue. It wasn't until a few years later that I realized he meant that we saw the same things. We saw what others couldn't, and we understood what others did not.

His eyes connected with mine, and they widened - first in relief, then in shock after the first bullet pierced his body.

I bit back a scream as I watched my favourite teacher fall to the cold ground, unmoving, as the dirt was painted red with his blood. He twitched, once - no, twice - before laying deathly still.

It was as if someone had taken the air away from the world. I found it hard to breathe, hard to keep the tears from flowing, hard to bite back a scream, a cry, a yell.

The Peacekeepers signalled each other, and they broke down the door to my house, without a second glance at Mr. Elwin's dead body. I could hear the door splintering, and finally, breaking.

And though the Peacekeepers moved with the silent stealth of a hunting tiger, I could hear them. I could smell the death that surrounded them. I could hear the wind whispering for me to run, to flee.

I shimmered out the window, using the pipes as a rope. Our house was never tall, thankfully, Anxol picking the smallest house after her victory. I jumped off the last few feet and bolted to Mr. Elwin.

His chocolate brown eyes were no longer warm. They were devoid of any heat, of any compassion, of everything. They were empty, glassy.

We had the same eyes. I wondered what he saw now. If he saw his late wife, whom he told me was one of the victims of the Shock eleven years ago that killed many citizens of District 5, my parents being part of the death toll. If he saw his daughter, whom he had told me once had the same smile as me. She had died in the 65th Hunger Games. Whatever Mr. Elwin saw with the eyes that used to be identical to mine, it was pointless.

I avoided looking at the gaping holes in his flesh where the bullet pierced his body. I avoided stepping on the red that was his blood.

Instead, I focused on his hand. It was curled around something. I pried his fingers apart, and I learned that death had a touch, too. Cold. Icy. Death felt like ice.

It was one fact that I wished I never learned.

I quickly pried Mr. Elwin's hand away from whatever Mr. Elwin was so tightly grasping in his final moments. The Donnie that saw facts screamed at me to run, the Peacekeepers were bound to notice you were not in the house; they would be out in seconds and you will be the second corpse on the ground. But the Donnie that felt without experiencing urged me to at least find out what Mr. Elwin wanted in his last moments.

Finally, I broke through Mr. Elwin's viselike grip. I snatched whatever it was, planted a light kiss on his forehead, and dashed away from the corpse of the man I looked up to.

That was the first death I witnessed. But it was not the last.

As I fled District 5, I passed by the town square. The school. The factory. In every single one of them, I could see some of my fellow citizens, raging. Throwing things at the Peacekeepers. Roaring out curses, crying. Wailing.

Rebelling.

But the Peacekeepers were trained to take care of situations like this. And they did it by killing.

Bullets in the air, I learned that night, were one of the loudest sounds in the air. I would categorize it amongst cannons, though I have never heard one myself. Bullets, that I knew would find its mark in the flesh.

I saw death countless times that night. I saw killing in every corner.

In my twelve years old life, I had seen one hundred and thirty two lives lost on a screen. But on that night, I saw millions of deaths in the air.

**.**

I ran for I don't know how long. It felt like hours, days, weeks. I ran, I ran, and I didn't stop until nightfall. I rationed the food I brought, but when that ran out, I foraged for food, eating only what I knew for certain was safe. I slept under trees, behind rocks, next to rushing rivers.

It was surprisingly easy to sneak out of District 5. Maybe it was because I could sneak under the electric wires with my small frames. Maybe it was the chaos of that night, when everyone rebelled. Maybe it was the Peacekeepers, who never thought a twelve year old could slip past the weak link that they never bothered to check.

Initially, I had no idea where I was going to go. All I knew was that I had to run, because I was the younger sister of Anxol, and I knew that Anxol was part of something bigger than this. It was easy to figure out. There was no way Johanna Mason would be allies with Katniss Everdeen, unless it was for a very, very good reason.

Like protection.

The whole entire time of the Games, Johanna, Finnick, and Anxol were doing something that usually, they would never do. They were protecting Katniss and Peeta. Oh, I _knew_. If this was some regular Game, Finnick, Johanna, and Anxol would have teamed up - just the three of them - and would've slaughtered everyone that came across this deadly trio. But no, their behaviour, their reasoning, their choices - it was much too simple to figure out.

They were protecting Katniss and Peeta. Then it was all a matter of _why, _but it doesn't take a genius to figure that either.

The berries. The nightlock stunt. It angered the Capitol, and it created something in Panem that was dangerous. Deadly.

Hope.

With Anxol involved, I knew there was danger for me as soon as the arena exploded in fire and flames. They were rebelling. And Anxol was a part of it. And I was a part of Anxol. I did not want to be in the grasp of the Capitol, who were sure to have captured me, being the only thing Anxol had left. Rebellion is dangerous, this we all know. And the Capitol is ruthless.

So I ran.

And I had no idea where to go. So I had left District 5. Where was I supposed to go?

Where was the rebellion supposed to take place?

I couldn't think of any place that could possibly hold a rebellion, but I settled on District 12; Katniss and Peeta's homeland. Where it was the farthest from the Capitol, where this all started.

For once, I wasn't sure. But I had nowhere else to go.

District 12 it was.

**.**

Then it was a matter of how exactly I was going to get to District 12.

I had nothing. Only my steadily decreasing food supply and my brain, which seemed so full of useless information at the time.

But I had something else.

A compass.

Still tainted with the rusty red of Mr. Elwin's blood, but gleaming silver in the moonlight. North, East, South, West. The needle spun, the cool metal pressing into my hand. The long chain dangled, and I wore it around my neck. A guide. A hope.

It was Mr. Elwin's last gift to me. I tried not to think about his lifeless eyes and cold corpse that I pried it away from.

It was a beautiful, handcrafted compass. A heirloom, by the looks of it. There was only a crumpled piece of paper attached to the face of the compass, written in Mr. Elwin's hurried, scrawled writing. The last piece of advice that he ever gave to me.

_Run._

I knew where District 12 was, in terms of geography. I knew which side of District 5 I left, and which side of District 12 would be the closest to enter. I knew the terrain that lay in between, and I knew the dangers in each one. I knew death and I knew killing, and I knew hunger and fatigue.

And now, I knew the path to freedom.

North.

**.**

Every day, for the next two weeks that I had spent walking towards District 12, following Mr. Elwin's little silver compass, I would think of nothing but Anxol and the Games. If I was doing the right thing. If Anxol was still alive. If she was safe. If she was waiting for me.

But I knew, I _knew _that she was not dead. I would have felt it, would have felt the knife severing the rope that bonded us together. I clung onto that rope and hoped I was right.

**.**

At every district I passed, I saw men. Killing. I would sneak by the borders of each district, blended in, staying unnoticed. And in every single one, I saw white figures with black guns, death in the air and killing on the ground.

Until I reached District 8. The figures wore black, and their guns were strapped to their backs. I was curious as to why District 8 had Peacekeepers in black uniforms, since in the Hunger Games footage, they always wore white. I followed one quietly, until I heard him talking to a speaker strapped to his uniform.

_District 8 in rebellion, call for backup. I repeat, call for backup. Send District 13's best fighters in, we need backup._

District 13. That's where the rebellion was. After so many days of hunger and fatigue, I was sure I imagined those words. District 13 was gone, blasted to the ground after the Dark Days.

But the wind whispered that this was the way to go, that this was the path to freedom. The wind spoke in the voice of Mr. Elwin, whose warm eyes held secrets of the world. Of Anxol, whose smile chased the death away. Of Enkol, my memory of him so faded that I barely remember his voice anymore. But it is him. It is them. I tell myself not to think I was delusional, and for once in my life, throw away all of my logic, information and facts and take a leap of faith and hope into the unknown.

And like a lost child, I wandered to the figure in black. He turned around, looking down on me with blue-grey eyes that had seen worse death than I.

And though I hadn't been eating enough for the past two weeks, and I haven't cleaned or smiled or slept enough, I mustered my unused voice and stood as tall as I could.

"My name is Belladonna Enkeli, and I am the younger sister of Anxol Enkeli, the most recent victor of District 5. I want to be part of the rebellion."

**.**

She wasn't there, waiting.

She was gone, at the Capitol. Facing unmentionable tortures.

But even though the rope that held us together frayed to a thread, from our distance or from our hurt, it did not break.

She was still alive.

.

Finnick is broken. Shattered. He is safe from the Capitol, unlike Anxol, though they might as well just sent him to the Capitol to her. In fact, I think he would've been happier there.

When the weight of Anxol's fate crashed down on me, I sought the only part of her I can find. Finnick. And though he shed no tears, his body shook and his eyes were haunted. Dead, almost. He dragged himself, sluggish, moving as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And I knew that he felt that way. He felt as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders because Anxol was his world, and the weight of his guilt of her fate smashed on him in a way that didn't happen to me. He would tie his rope, over and over again, and he would never stop. Finnick was erratic, and at the same time, lethargic.

And I felt the same.

My older sister, my sissy, who has ripped a man to shreds and faced mutts for me. Who heard my scream and almost drove herself mad from it. Annie, who loved me so much, and this was the fate that she was dealt after all her love.

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I could only think, and my mind raced with guilt, scenarios.

I had felt enough death. I did not want to feel Anxol's death as well.

**.**

I found salvation in Beetee. I was glad to have fixed that hissing light that spread throughout the cafeteria, and it surprised me that no one else knew how to. It was basic knowledge, almost. It took my mind off Anxol and her sacrifices, and in those two minutes that both my hands and brain was occupied, it was bliss. To not think of death and killing and torture.

Beetee reminded me of Mr. Elwin. Both had what seemed like a range of endless knowledge. Both had the same warm eyes. Both were friendly, and both were as eager to teach as I was to learn.

Mr. Elwin, who laid in a puddle of his own blood. I clutch onto the compass that never leaves my neck, and though my new teacher stands before me with friendly eyes and informative words, I will never forget the teacher who died trying to save my life.

**.**

Anxol came back three months and two weeks after I reached District 13. By then, I knew all about editing and hacking, wires and electronics. I learned simple experiments with chemicals and electricity.

And it was natural to me, this knowledge. It came easy to me, the way my brain needed information the way Finnick needed Anxol.

There was no doubting Finnick and Anxol's love. It was there, bright as day, a shimmering light of love in the smoke of death. They clung onto each other, and it was just so _natural _how they fit with each other.

And nothing - not science, not chemicals, not formulas - _nothing _- could help me to explain how Finnick and Anxol were so perfect for each other.

Anxol deserved it, I deduced. She had spent her life caring for me, sacrificing her life, her freedom, her hopes, her dreams, for me. My older sister threw everything away for me, for my life, for my future. She thought of me before she thought of herself, and she deserved this happiness. She deserved this light, and she deserved this man who would protect her. She had done enough protecting. It was her turn to be sheltered.

Though I was happy for the two of them, I will not lie. I was jealous, envious, and angry. Anxol was my sister, and it undeniably hurt to see Finnick carry her away, as if he was the ocean itself, its current calling Anxol to its depths. Finnick was a good man, that much was obvious. He was kind and gentle, playful and sweet, and he was exactly what Anxol needed. But Anxol was all I had known. All_ I_ needed. And yet, here she was, swimming away from me.

But I don't let my own anger get in the way of my thinking. When she comes back with the scars riddling her back, the red seeping past the drab grey District 13 clothing; her mind damaged, her spirit broken, I know that her little sister cannot heal the wounds that the Capitol inflicted on her, no matter how many ointments I rub, create, or brew.

The Capitol has broken her, and I wonder if the Capitol is Death himself. If everything the Capitol touches turns into ashes, shattering things to pieces. Anxol has been at the Capitol for two months, and though I am no doctor, I already know that her sanity is cracked. She is broken to fragments to who she is, and there is only one person who can possibly fix her again.

So I smile and tell Anxol what I have learned, and try to be the little sister that is the last anchor to who she was. So I watch as Finnick carries Anxol away from me, fading in the distance.

Anxol has her fisherman, her only salvation to help her. I turn to information, my learning, my own escape. I turn to books and knowledge and facts, and while Anxol stores her heart with love with Finnick, I store my brain with wisdom from books.

It's only natural to be jealous of the quickly fading pair of people who found each other in this broken world.

It's not the same.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Yes, I know, massive(ish) chapter. Well, it is Donnie's point of view from the past eight chapters, so, well, it was bound to be on the longer side. I hope I didn't bore you too much.

What did you think of this chapter; something new, in Donnie's point of view? I actually did quite enjoy writing in Donnie's point of view, though it did prove to be a challenge since Donnie is supposed to be a genius. Sorry if Donnie didn't sound too smart/intelligent in this chapter. I don't have any plans to write any future chapters in Donnie's point of view (I'm still going to be going between Finnick and Anxol's POV) but if you guys would like to see Donnie's point of view again, well, we'll see.

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review!

And as per usual, next chapter up tomorrow!


	10. Catch Me

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

This chapter is back in Anxol's point of view again. Just a heads up.

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Every day, they make me see a doctor. He is wearing a clean, white coat lab and he asks me all these questions that make my head spin.

Finnick is there with me, though all the doctors and rebel tell him he shouldn't be. They can't tell us what to do anymore. No one can. We have played by the rules, followed commands, and obeyed for long enough. Now is about time that we decided what we wanted to do; our own free will.

The doctor - I can never remember his name - always asks me about my troubles. He asks me what's bothering me, what's plaguing my mind.

There's nothing wrong, I tell him. Nothing wrong at all.

He always gives me this disappointed look, and Finnick's face would always wrinkle with concern.

What was I supposed to tell them? That I can see my loved ones dying around me all the time? That I am the reason for their possible deaths? That I fear one of my visions will be their absolute end one day? I can't tell him that. I can't tell him that I can hear their screams, that I can feel their blood coating on my hands as I try to revive them.

He wouldn't understand. He doesn't understand. I don't bother trying to see if he can.

I have to braid Donnie's hair multiple times a day to make sure it's really there; that her skull is still intact. I have to stare at Johanna for what feels like hours to be certain that her eyes aren't empty, that her mouth isn't dripping blood. I have to wake up several times in the middle of the night to make sure Finnick is still next to me; that I am not on the cold hard floor, that he is breathing and smiling.

And they pretend I can't hear. They pretend I can't hear what they say about a good victor wasted, about a beautiful girl who fell to pieces. They think I can't hear what they say about me, about what I have become.

This makes me angry. I am still a victor. Once upon a time, I did kill a person. I did electrocute that arena. And though it is not a feat I am proud of, I am no object that they can judge for the price. I am no doll that they can parade around and hope will raise spirits.

And I am furious, because they say I am broken. They say that I am just pieces of a girl that cannot be glued together. They do not know what Snow has done to me. They do not understand that Snow breaks everybody, and you cannot expect me to pick up the pieces the way you pick roses. They don't understand. They don't realize that I have seen horrors that would drive them stark raving mad.

I am not mad. I am not. I may be broken, but at least I am holding myself together. It may be by the finest threads, but I am still intact.

Mostly intact.

**.**

Finnick tells me about the rebels, the training. He has just started, and he is learning how to use guns to shoot people. He wants to become a rebel, one that can fight back at the Capitol in the front lines, to take revenge on all it has done to us.

"I don't want you to come, Anxol." Finnick asks of me, smiling though his eyes are worried. "Are you okay with that, Angelfish?"

I'm angry for a minute when he tells me this. Is it because I am weak? Because I can't handle it? And deep in my heart, I know that this is true. I can't handle that, watching Finnick shoot guns, no matter how strong I think I am on the outside.

But I tell myself not to be angry. Finnick is my wall, and he only wants to protect me.

"Can I at least watch?" I plead, using my best imitation of Finnick's puppy dog eyes.

He quirks an eyebrow and looks doubtful, those concerned crinkles appearing around his eyes again.

"I just want to see you in those rebel uniforms." I look at him innocently, though I let a few giggles escape - Finnick knows that that's not the reason why I want to go, but instead of trying to pry the real reason out of me, he plays along.

He grin lopsidedly and strikes a ridiculous pose.

"No one can resist me." He sighs playfully. "Especially when I'm in a rebel uniform."  
"It's just so _hard _to stay away." I sigh dramatically along with him. "You are asking for the impossible, oh mighty Finnick Odair."  
"I understand your circumstances, fair Anxol. It is indeed hard to stay away from me when I'm so irresistible." He smiles, the fish hooks tugging at the corners of his lips.

He moves out of his silly pose and lets out a laugh. He pulls me by the waist towards him, a smile on his lips that I am glad to have brought him.

He is all seriousness when he looks at me again, his piercing green eyes making it impossible to look away.

"Are you sure about this?" Finnick's voice is even, steady, concerned for me again. But I want to go. I have to face my fears, have to get over this phase. If this is a phase.

Nevertheless, I can't let this take over me. I can't let myself lose who I am in the depths of Snow's visions. I want to be rid of the last scar Snow has inflicted on me. And this is only the first step.

"Am I sure about watching you learn how to save damsels in distress?" I smile at Finnick, happy to watch the tense lines around his eyes erase. "Of course I am."

"Are you sure I'm the one who's learning? Perhaps I'm the one teaching, Angelfish dearest." He teases, a playful grin on his face. "After all, I do have quite a reputation for saving damsels. You can even call me an expert at it."

And before I can protest or give him a witty comeback, he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me like a princess towards the rebel's training centre.

"I'm no damsel in distress, Finn." I laugh as we speed through the corridors, enjoying the stares of the District 13 citizens.

"I know. Maybe you'll be the one saving me one day." He sets me down in front of the wide doors, laughter in his eyes and on his lips. "I may not be the knight in shining armor that's there to rescue you when you've already got an escape plan, but I promise I'll be the fisherman who's always ready to catch you."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Short chapter - ah! Yes, I know! Sorry about that.

But, how did you like it? The first taste of Anxol at District 13. What did you think about it?

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	11. Fine

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

It feels unbearable, at first. I sit on the sidelines and watch as Finnick dismantles and reassembles the guns. They are long, black, sleek and shining.

They are also deadly. When one is shot, I jump a little in my seat, the sound loud and piercing through the air they way it could pierce through a human.

Finnick keeps on glancing at me worriedly, and each and every time he does, I manage to smile at him, even give him a little wave. Soon, his glances are less frequent. I am fine. Really.

I sit in the sidelines every day, staring at the guns. Staring at the weapons on the wall. Staring at Finnick shooting these guns, preparing to kill people.

I am okay. I am fine.

I can hear the other rebel men whispering, some of them not even bothering to lower their voices. I'm not supposed to be here, they say. I'm damaged. Broken. I can't handle this, can't handle any form of violence because I am _delicate._

And some of the lower ranked men laugh at Finnick, telling him that he's bagged a beautiful gem that's worth nothing. A gem that is beautiful to look at, but after time, gets dull. Sits in the corner and gathers dust, unable to do anything.

Finnick pushes these men, sometimes even punches a few of them. I can hear his growl from across the room, and his green eyes flash with malice. The men stop laughing at him.

I sit there, as still as a statue. Watching. Observing. I still smile at Finnick, though I want to scream. Want to run out of the room and hole up in a dark corner, and get rid of these visions that overtake me while I watch Finnick and the guns.

Donnie, a hole in her head. Enkol, his body in tatters from the holes piercing them. Johanna, bleeding profusely, silver bullets embedded in her mouth.

And Finnick, standing tall and godly and beautiful in front of their dead corpses, smiling and holding a gun.

I am fine. I have to get over this. I am fine. Why does no one believe me?

Finnick holds me close at night as the tears stream down my face. I shake, and he thinks it's because of the cold. His hands, which have held guns, on my arm. I can't help but to shake, and I hate myself for fearing them.

I feel guilty when Finnick looks at me with loving eyes. I am a beautiful gem that amounts to no price, and yet he still loves me. He loves me, though I am weak and fragile and delicate; what they call me around here when they think I can't hear them. He doesn't deserve someone who can break so easily, who will only cause him embarrassment.

And I know it's time to move on to step two.

**.**

"Are you going to eat all of that?" Johanna eyes my bowl of uneaten food.

My stomach is churning and I feel queasy. I shake my head, closing my eyes tightly.

"Well, then, I guess it's mine." Johanna reaches over for my bowl, only to be stopped by Finnick.

"You should be eating, Anxol. You're as thin as a stick." He looks at me with concerned eyes. I hate it. I hate how he has to worry about me. He shouldn't have someone he has to look over all the time. "Are you feeling alright?'

"Yes. I'm fine." I smile at him and Johanna, trying to act normal though I am shaking for what was to come.

They both eye my dubiously, worry in both of their eyes.

"I'm fine. Really." I say with a little more force. I push my bowl over to Johanna. "Here, you can have it, Jo."

Johanna stares at me, then to the bowl before her. She shrugs and starts eating ravenously.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Finnick asks again, persistent. He stops eating his own portion and holds out the remains to me.

"The woman says she's fine, Finnick." Johanna says in between gulps. "No need to act like a worried mother all the time."

I crack a small smile as Johanna catches my eye and gives me a devious grin.

Finnick eyes the two of us suspiciously before carefully eating the remainder of his soup - or was it oatmeal? I can't even tell anymore.

"How's things with your doctor, Johanna?" Finnick asks when he's done.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't even get me started on him. All the time, he asks me 'how are you feeling?' 'are you feeling better today?' 'do you have any nightmares?' It's absolutely frustrating."

"I feel your pain." I add, feeling Johanna's irritation matching with my own.

"It's for the best." Finnick interjects. "For the both of you."

"Oh, Johanna, do you think axing those tributes have to do with your condition today?" Johanna mimics her doctor's slow, deep voice. "Hmm. Let me think about that. Maybe Snow forcing me to play in his Games has to do with what's wrong with me today."

Her imitation of her doctor is dead on, a perfect match. Slow and deliberate, every word hanging in the air for an eternity. I can just image him saying those very words.

Finnick raises his eyebrow, I stifle a giggle, and Johanna cracks a smile.

The three of us stare at each for one last time before bursting out in laughter, though there was nothing really funny about it. We just wanted to feel like something was normal for once.

**.**

Finnick's POV

Despite what I think is what's best for her, Anxol sits in on the rebel training every day, diligently like a student ready to learn. She stares, now unflinching as each bullet is fired.

I don't think she should be there. All the doctors tell me, _she is not fine, her mental condition is unstable and she should not be exposed to any form of violence._

And in my head, I agree with these doctors. But they make Anxol sound weak, like a little girl who is afraid of the dark. I know she is not, but I also know she is not quite the same. But I can't tell her what and what not to do. The decision is ultimately hers, and I will support it. I will wait and I will help her repair herself, no matter how long it takes.

I train, shooting the guns. They pull my hand back and send a shudder in my spine. I miss my trident, miss the familiar rod of metal in my hands.

Beetee made a trident for me. The rebels tell me I can't use it yet; I have to master the guns first.

So I try my best to do so, try my best to shoot accurately.

I am frustrated by the fifth shot that does not make it in the bull's eye. Before I have time to reload my gun, a familiar whizzing sound is heard over my right shoulder, accompanied by a gust of wind. A dull _thunk _sounds somewhere in front of me. It's the trident Beetee made for me, embedded in the bull's eye circle.

All the rebels including myself whip around, only to see Anxol there, smiling and twenty feet away from the target.

I can see her trembling slightly, eyes slightly unfocused, but still smiling her old Capitol smile.

"Why, hello there." She purrs like Angel, loud enough for all of us to hear. "Mind if I play?"

**.**

"It's not because I want to be a rebel. It's because - " she blinks slowly, a pause. " - I just have to do this."  
We can't talk her out of it. They think she's too unstable with a weapon, her mind damaged past fixing; she will only hurt herself.

No, they're wrong. She's too dangerous with a weapon. It's not something I oppose.

She smiles, something gleaming in her eyes. A mix of fear, terror, and defiance. She grips the handle of the knives tightly, though I can see her shaking faintly.

And each one she throws hits the target with perfect precision, a single flick of her wrist. They're not as fast as they used to be, though; I still remember the knives whizzing with deadly speed and accuracy in the training room.

But her specialty are the swords. There are no double-bladed swords for her to use, but there are a few simple ones that the rebels use to train their hand-eye coordination. She picks them up, and one by one they are sailing through the air with the lethal grace only she can master.

The rebels go back to shooting their guns, and I do, too. But I keep my eye on her, watching her from the corner of my eye. She seems neutral, not at all disturbed by the weapons in her hands.

Maybe the doctors were wrong after all.

**.**

Anxol's POV

I am shaking, and I force myself to stop. I try to remember how the handle of swords used to feel so familiar in my hands, try to remember how I used to throw the knives with such effortlessness.

Try to remember how I used to kill with such ease.

I am screaming internally, long, loud, and shrill. It echoes in the chambers of my mind, filling every recess, every nook. It surrounds my brain, and soon enough, the visions erupt. They bloom into my mind, sinister and bloody like Snow's crimson roses.

I fight them off. Shake my head a few times and try to rid of the illusions plaguing my mind.

_They are not real. They are not real. I am fine. You have to do this for Finnick._

Over and over again, a twisted mantra to bring back the girl I used to be. The girl Finnick fell in love with.

I pick up the knives and throw them, hurling them towards the targets without my usual strength.

_Weak. You are weak._

The knives, though not as strong as they used to be, haven't lost their precision. They still hit the bull's eye with the same accuracy, and this makes the rebels stop and stare. Makes them wonder if the crazy girl who they had thought lost her mind could fight back after all.

When I pluck the knives out again, I swallow a scream. The blade is shiny, sleek, smooth. It cuts my finger when I hold it incorrectly the first time, and a drop of crimson blood falls to the mirror-silver blade. I have to bite back a scream, force away the visions that are so violently pushing into my mind, threatening to take over.

_I am fine._

I throw the knives again and again, throw a few swords and spears. Each and every time, I have to blink back the visions that are engulfing my brain; swooning and alluring at first, trying to get me to join in, and violent and aggressive when I refuse to fall into the insanity.

Repetitive. Over and over again, even though my mind screams for mercy, screams for me to _stop _because this is only making me worse. My brain is pleading, begging, crying and telling me to stop doing this to myself, stop inflicting this kind of torture on myself, because what I am doing is only making the visions come ten times worse than they used to be.

And again, I feel like I am split into two.

The angel sobs, telling me to stop and telling me to take my time to recover. Spend some days with Finnick. Talk to Johanna. Just _don't do this to yourself._

But the demon is shrieking at me, telling me to keep on going. The demon believes - no, _knows _- that this is the first step to recovery. The demon says that Finnick shouldn't waste his life trying to take care of a girl whose mind is left in the cell at the Capitol; shattered to a million pieces. Finnick should be with a girl who can fight for herself and does not scream at every little thing she sees. And if you want to be that girl, the demon warns, you must recover quickly. And this is the first step among many.

The angel weeps and wails, and the demon howls and cackles, twisting and turning until they turn into the voices of Enkol, Donnie, Johanna, and Finnick.

Crying bitter tears of mercy as they plead.

Howling with pain as they die.

And me, standing heartless and laughing as the ones I love writhe in agony.

**.**

"An? An. An. Anxol!"

A voice snaps me out of a particularly horrifying vision, one in which I am bashing Donnie's skull with nothing but my bare fists.

There is no blood. Only an unfixable dent in her head, just above her pleading pale blue eyes.

I snap out of it. I am glad. I did not want to see my sister's eyes just before I ended her life.

"Are you alright, An? You've been staring off into space for the past ten minutes." Johanna looks at me, concern deep within her brown eyes. "Katniss asked you a question."  
My eyes flicker to Katniss' grey ones. They are looking at me strangely, concentrated as if she was trying to crack a code she didn't understand.

"I'm sorry Katniss. What was it you asked me?"

I can feel Finnick's worried eyes staring at me. I am fine. I am fine. There is no need for him to waste his life looking after me. I am fine.

"How old is your little sister?" Katniss asks, curious, but still looking at me in that same strange manner.

Donnie. Her dark blonde hair spread out around her head, making the dent in her skull more prominent. Her pink lips open in shock, pale blue eyes filled with horror and disappointment. Her body a mess of limbs and bones.

Donnie. Who I have killed.

"It's okay, Anxol. It's fine. It's not real, it's just an illusion." Finnick whispers into my ear. "Don't worry. Come back to me now, okay?"

My eyes snap back to Katniss and Johanna, and I didn't even realize I had been sucked into my visions again. I turn a little to my left, and I see Finnick, wrinkles of worry around his green eyes. His voice sounds ragged, tired.

"There you are." He whispers softly, smiling though his eyes betray his concern.

I look away in shame. He already knows what's wrong with me, what makes me weak. I am broken, and he is just patiently wasting his life picking up the pieces.

"Donnie's twelve." I answer Katniss, trying to act as if nothing had happened. As if I didn't have a relapse of what they did to me at the Capitol.

I am fine. I am fine. I am fine.

One look on Finnick's face and you know he's worried about me. One look on Katniss' face and you know she's worried about Peeta.

Peeta was hijacked by the Capitol. They put tracker jacker venom in his head, erasing all his thoughts, all his feelings for Katniss. They replaced it with false memories and a circuit to make him think she's a mutt. He now thinks everyone that helped him previously - including everyone in his alliance during the Quarter Quell - is an enemy. The Capitol has made him hate us, made him try and kill us. Especially Katniss. I think he hates Katniss now as much as we hate the Capitol for doing this to us.

And I can see it in Katniss' eyes; heartbreak. How easily they took Peeta away from her and made him forget her. How easy it was for the Capitol to take away their love.

But he is healing. He is recovering, and so am I. We will both be fine. Things will be fine, I tell myself. I will be fine.

When we are done eating lunch with Katniss and Johanna, Finnick pulls me aside to a deserted room.

He turns to me, eyes serious, no trace of a smile on his lips. And I can't help but to think _I caused this, _because I took away the boy who had the sea in everything he was and replaced it with this man who has to carry a weight that is too heavy to hold, too worthless to even be carrying around.

I hate myself for bursting into tears knowing that it was me, not the Capitol, who took away who Finnick really was.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Sorry if things in this chapter seemed a bit rushed/hurried. I originally planned on separating this into two chapters so that I could expand/slow things down a little, but I couldn't find a good spot to split it, so I just smacked it all into one chapter. Sorry about that.

AND sorry if this chapter isn't as bright and happy as the past few(ish). It's just that I didn't think things should've been all glorious all the time while there's a war brewing, even if it's about personal relationship things. So basically, in other words, I decided to make things a little unhappier? More troubled? Ah, I don't know. I'm not feeling very eloquent today... sorry about that. My brain is like mush right now.

Anyways, not to bother you with my senseless ramblings.

What did you think of the chapter? Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to leave it as a review!

And as per usual, the next chapter will be uploaded tomorrow!


	12. Together

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

I don't cry often. Many associate it with weakness, and I was one of them.

But standing in front of Finnick, looking at a man who loved me so passionately though I broke him to pieces, I can't help but to cry. Self-hate for doing this to him. The bitterness at what I've become. What I've made him do.

Finnick looks panicked, eyes wide with fear and worried. And I hate that I am causing him this concern for someone as worthless as me. I am weak. I am fragile. And he does not deserve that.

"Shh Anxol." He wipes a few tears away from my cheeks. "What is it? Everything will be fine, I promise."

I've been telling myself that for the past few days. Am I really believing what I say or am I just desperately holding onto a false hope?

Why am I so selfish? I know full well what has become of me; a shell of who I used to be, a doll that lost its value. I know that Finnick does not deserve this hollow, porcelain girl but a beautiful, vibrant mermaid. And yet I don't want to let him go, don't want to set him free away from me. How have I so quickly turned from selfless to selfish?

His green eyes are pleading with me to tell him what's wrong, and I turn away from them. I do not want to be selfish anymore. I should think of Finnick, what does he deserve. It shouldn't matter how I feel; it hasn't mattered how I felt about things so many years ago.

"Anxol, what's wrong?" He pleads, desperation seeping into his voice. "Please tell me."

What am I supposed to say? That I am weak? That he deserves better? There is no kind way to put this, no way I can possibly spare him. But wouldn't it be worse to keep him like this?

For once, the demon and angel are quiet. They do not know how to solve this solution, and I miss their bickering and howling voices.

I turn to face him - I will not tell him with my back to him, he deserves better than that. He is waiting for an answer; always, always waiting.

He pulls me into a tight embrace, his hands drawing soothing circles on my back. I can't return the embrace, can't do anything but think about what I was going to do next.

"It's okay, An. It's alright." He whispers, soft and soothing. "We'll fix whatever it is. Together. I promise."

Finnick pulls away slightly from me, smiling faintly, eyes happy. His hands move away from my waist, but only for a fraction of a second.

When he looks back at me, his eyes are still worried, but filled with hope; he is happier than I have ever seen him. Finnick stands, waiting for my answer, eyes flickering to the ring he placed on my finger.

**.**

It's beautiful. The band is a gleaming silver; coiling around my finger in the design of a rope. There is one pearl in the middle and two smaller pearls on either side, smooth and shining.

It's gorgeous. But I know the meaning of it, know what Finnick is asking. I am horrified, pulling away from Finnick's tight embrace and seeing the hurt on his face.

I stumble back and slump down to the corner of the room as the visions overtake me once again.

But these visions are not relapses from the Capitol. These are the visions that I make myself.

Finnick and I, old as Mags, and still having him guide me everywhere. Finnick fighting as I cower in the corner. Finnick whispering to me all night long as I scream and cry. Finnick, wasting away just to be with a girl who is already half-gone.

Finnick quickly comes over, thinking it's another illusion from the Capitol. He crouches down, eye level to me, and I can see the pain clearly in his eyes.

"If it's too soon, we can always wait, Anxol." He tries smiling, but failing miserably. "We can wait for as long as you need to."  
Waiting. Always, always waiting. He will sit and wait, sit and wait for someone who will never come back. He will wait but no one will ever come.

I shake my head, my body trembling uncontrollably.

"I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't." The words are a whisper at first, but getting louder and louder with every word. "I can't, I can't, I can't."  
Finnick looks crestfallen. His hurt is clearly evident as he sinks down next to me.

"What is it, Anxol? You can't marry me, or you can't love me, or - ?" He chokes out, his sentence unfinished, hanging like a million tonnes in the air.

"I can't let you do this. I can't let you marry me. I can't let you waste away your life." I whisper quietly. "I can't let you do that."

Finnick looks confused. "How would I be wasting away my life?"

"Look at me, Finn!" I stand up abruptly, away from the piercing beautiful sea green eyes that searched for someone that would never come. "Look what you have to do every day just to get me back here. Look at all you have to do to make sure I don't go insane."

I hate the way my voice is bordering on hysterics.

"You don't want to be tethered to me, Finnick. You don't want to spend the rest of your life trying to keep me normal." I can't even look at him anymore; the hurt in his eyes are too much for me to bear. "I know what I am now. Don't waste your time carrying around a worthless burden."

"Is that why you come watch me train?" His voice is quiet, low. He stands up, his head down, piecing everything together at last. The secret that I've kept to myself, kept hidden for so long. "Why you handle the weapons again?"

"Finn - " I sigh. That is not the point. I know I have failed. I cannot handle the weapons without delving deeper into insanity, and there is no other way to fix me. I am broken and worthless. Finnick cuts me off, mid-sentence.

"To get better again?" Finnick continues, his eyes raising to meet mine in a piercing stare.

I stay silent, meeting his eyes.

_I'mfineI'mfineI'mfineI'mfineI'mfineI'mfineI'mfineI'mfine._

My mantra is a lie. I know I am not fine. I am damaged on the inside, and I am verging on madness. The visions are lasting longer and longer, getting easier and easier to fall into.

Finnick holds my wrists firmly but gently, as if to keep me from running away from him. I had half a mind to. He knows me too well, knows my every move.

"Why would you say that?" He asks, his voice breaking. Why do I keep on doing this to him, making him care and shatter to pieces? "Why would you say you're a worthless burden to me?"

"I can't be who I was before. I can't give you the life you deserve, Finn. We both know that."  
He pulls me into another hug, even though I try to pull away.

"You are a silly Angelfish." He laughs brokenly; not a laugh at all. "You silly, silly Angelfish."  
I can feel Finnick's head on my shoulder, his tears seeping into my drab District 13 shirt. Why is it that I can no longer give him happiness? Why is it that the only thing I can do is cause him to suffer?

"You are not a burden to me, Anxol. You are not worthless. You're more than good enough for me. Don't you remember? You're my Angelfish and you're all I need to be happy."

"You don't seem very happy right now." I murmur quietly into Finnick's neck, inhaling the smell of the sea that he always seemed to have, almost as if he carried the sea wherever he went.

"I'm happy that you're with me. I'm happy that we're not in the Capitol. I'm happy that we're safe." He lists out. "There are a lot of things to be happy about, Angelfish, just because you're here."

He pulls away from me and I can see that his eyes are faintly pink from his tears. He puts his forehead to mine, eyes closed. I am pinned between him and the corner, and I do not want to run anymore.

"We're both pretty broken right now, wouldn't you say?" He whispers, smiling sadly. I nod slightly, closing my eyes too.

"We'll fix each other up, won't we? Together?" He opens his eyes, and they are wide and pleading; hopeful.

"Are you sure you want that? Want me, like this?"

"Are you sure you want _me _like _this, _begging and pleading and still trying to figure out what to do? Still trying to figure out what's right? Lost?" Finnick asks softly. "We're both not the same people anymore, Anxol. But that doesn't change what I feel about you."

He looks vulnerable, admitting what he feels. Admitting his fears. He looks down, waiting for my answer. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

He's not waiting for the Anxol before she was taken to the Capitol to the torture. She is long gone, he knows that. But so is the Finnick before he arrived in District 13.

He's waiting for someone else.

Finnick has waited long enough.

I gently lift his chin up, making him look at me again. I smile faintly and press my lips to his, tears still shining in the both of our eyes.

"I love you, Finnick. And I would be more than happy to spend the rest of my life with you."

* * *

Thanks for reading?

Mildly rushed chapter once again? Check. Ah, well, what can you do?

What did you think of this chapter? Love it? Hate it? Let me know!

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	13. News

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**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games trilogy.**

* * *

"You're _what_?" Donnie shrieks later on that night. Finnick laughs, holding my hand.

Donnie eyes are wide and disbelieving, hair sticking on end and clothes smudged with whatever experiment she was last working on.

"The term is engaged, Donnie." I grin. It feels strange, but at the same time, so wonderful to smile again. "We're going to get married."

"Ah, looks like I'm going to be your brother-in-law, Donnie dearest." Finnick smirks mischievously, going over to give Donnie a hug. "Now, why don't you give your new brother Finnick a hug?"  
Donnie stands as still as statue, staring from me to the advancing Finnick, who was coming closer and closer to her, ready to tickle her senseless, probably.

Then she flies to me, dodging Finnick and tackling me so fast you would have thought she was being chased by the Capitol itself.

She hugs me tightly, her arms clinging onto my neck tightly.

"You're really getting married! Oh my gosh! What are you going to wear? Can I see your ring? He _did _give you a ring, right? Oh my gosh. Can I plan your wedding? If he ever hurts you, I'll... well, I can't think of a punishment now, but it's going to be bad! Oh my gosh. You're getting _married_!"

I laugh as Donnie squeals over the ring and hugs me and Finnick, Finnick's eyes shining with delight and amusement. Sometimes I forget that Donnie is still twelve and so young, and that she still gets overexcited like a little child.

"We're going to be a _family_!" Donnie squeals, holding us tightly together.

**.**

"Well, you finally got the guts to do it, Odair." Johanna grins. "Took you long enough."

Finnick chuckles and I laugh. Johanna lazes around our compartment and gives us a rare, happy smile.

"If he ever hurts you, or even looks at another woman, you tell me, okay An?" Johanna smirks, eying Finnick deviously. "I'll be sure to teach him a lesson he'll never forget."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." I grin. "Don't forget to invite me to watch."

"Oh, I'd never let you miss out on your soon-to-be-husband's beating." She flashes a smile filled with teeth; threatening though her eyes are bright and happy.

Johanna has been on morphling a lot these past few weeks. They finally managed to get her off of it before she got into an addiction, and it's nice to see something besides drugs making her smile again.

"Best of luck to the both of you." Johanna says sincerely, smiling a rare smile again.

**.**

It feels strange, to be happy. For so many weeks I have been forcing myself to deal with these visions, watching Finnick train and then training myself. Torturing myself by trying to cure what had happened to me. Crying and screaming silently. And now, smiling all day long, laughing.

I could get used to this.

At lunch, it was just the two of us at our usual table. Johanna was seeing her doctor and Katniss was doing Mockingjay duties - we weren't allowed to bother Katniss and tell her about the news, along with the other victors like Beetee and Haymitch, who were both with Katniss working on rebellion propos.

The rebellion was doing good, they told me. All the districts have rebelled against the Capitol. It may be good that we have the districts behind us, but I know that District 12 has been destroyed by the Capitol and that a few other districts have been bombed.

As much as I disliked the drab, grey streets, I cannot imagine my home in ashes and fire.

Katniss is doing well. The Mockingjay. The symbol of the rebellion. She soars, but I know she is still worried about Peeta. Afraid. Fearful. And yet she has to portray a fearless leader.

I want to comfort her, but she is busy and I don't know if she would even listen to a mad girl like me.

Once we were done eating and about to leave, Finnick stops me. He holds my hand tight and spins around to face the crowded cafeteria.

"Hey, everybody!" He calls loudly, and everyone turns to look at him, expectantly waiting. His voice projects loudly in the underground room.

"I'm Finnick Odair," he yells out, grinning, "and this lovely lady next to me, Anxol Enkeli, is going to be my wife!"

Everyone in the cafeteria cheers loudly, clapping and shouting. A thundering applause for the two of us.

I blush, sure that my crimson cheeks would stand out in the pale comparison of my hair and skin. But Finnick laughs and whoops loudly, picking me up and carrying me in his arms, already speeding away to the hallway.

He sets me down, and I start to chastise him, but he's laughing too hard; gasping for breath. And soon, his laugh seems to infect me, and I am laughing along with him.

We drop to the ground, rolling around, laughing hysterically like the kids we never got to be.

**.**

Boggs, one of the highest ranked soldiers in District 13, comes up to us a few minutes after we cease our laughter. I talked to him a few times, and it is clear that he is a fatherly, protective man. He was patient and kind to me, and I like to pretend that my father and him would have been good friends.

He wears a bright smile on his face as he approaches us.

"All of District 13 is abuzz with some big news." He smiles, eyes twinkling. "Is it true?"

"It is." Finnick nods, grinning. "I really am Panem's most gorgeous man."

Boggs lets out a bark of laughter. "I'm sure all of us already knew that, Mr. Odair."  
"But besides that," I roll my eyes at Finnick, smiling, "yes. We are getting married."  
Boggs' smile, if possible, gets bigger.

"Well, my best congratulations to the two of you. I hope you two don't mind discussing a few things with me first; you see, this is going to be a big event and I hope everything goes the way it's planned..."

**.**

Katniss' prep team is gushing and squealing, typical for Capitol citizens. I don't hate them; they are trusted by the rebellion, but it is strange to be seeing Capitol citizens again. I had almost forgotten how they looked.

We don't have any fine textiles from District 8 or jewels from District 1, so we have to use one of Katniss' old dresses that she wore on her Victory Tour. Her prep team seems a bit disappointed at the news, but I am excited. I didn't care if I was wearing the baggy, colorless clothing of District 13 - I was going to be marrying Finnick.

I guess it should have expected it, after all, we had been together for about four years, and had known each other for six. But it's still a delightful surprise, and one that came at the time I needed it the most.

"Let's start from the District 1 dress and work our way up!" One of them - I can't remember their names - suggests, pulling out a silken purple dress.

I stand as the three of them giggle and fawn over me, pinning and unpinning my hair, zipping up dresses and tying ribbons.

Donnie claps and stares at me with starry eyes with every dress I try on.

"Ooh, I like that one!" Donnie points excitedly to the dress I was currently wearing. The three of them step back to admire their work, smoothing out a few wrinkles.

"Yes, Cinna did indeed like that dress as well." One of them sighs. "He was a good man and a good designer."

Cinna, Katniss' talented designer, had created each and every single one of the dresses. Each one was beautiful, unique, and intricately made; the details extremely outstanding.

He is dead now. The Capitol took him and tortured him for information about the rebellion when the Quarter Quell started. He was a rebel that created the Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay.

"Do you think this is the one?" Donnie asks me, eyes wide and shining.

I smile and look at myself in the mirror.

It was a simple peach-colored dress with ribbons of soft fabric criss-crossing the upper half, letting the skirts below waft down, almost floating. It was the dress that Katniss wore to District 6.

"Ah, no, my little dearest." The male pats Donnie's head. "This color went well with Katniss' hair and skin tone, but your sister is too pale for it. Perhaps we should try on a few more dresses."

Though Cinna's dresses were not a bright, garish color that most Capitol citizens wore, most of the colors still didn't go well with my skin tone and hair. Anything too dark made me look like a ghost. Anything too bright made me look like a neon sign. My skin and hair contrasted with almost every color terribly.

However, despite the awful color clashes, all five of us had a fun time trying on the dresses. Donnie had never seen any of these beautiful fabrics and colors before in real life, and Katniss' prep team had been yearning to do some more fashion work for a long time.

And me, well, I was just having fun getting ready to be Finnick's wife.

We were almost out of dresses when we reached the District 10 gown. I slipped it on, the prep team tied the ribbons and fixed the train, and they all stood back and gasped.

At first, I wasn't too sure what they were gasping at. It looked simple enough when it was laid out. But when it was put on my body, it had a completely different effect.

It was a soft pale blue, similar to the color of Donnie's eyes. It had a snug bodice, with no sleeves or straps holding it up. The skirt was made up of flowing, soft overlapping ruffles of all different lengths and cuts, all a pale blue color. The material was soft and glossy, changing colors slightly when I moved. There was a light, transparent white gauzy material covering the ruffles, making the colors shift more.

"It - it's _beautiful_." Donnie manages to whisper out in awe. Smart, eloquent Donnie, speechless at the sight of me. The prep team only stared at me, mouths open.

"Well?" I grin, shaking with excitement. "What do you think?"

"It's definitely the one."

"Amazing. Stunning. Finnick will love it!"

"Wow. Just - wow."

Donnie steps up towards me and unpins my hair from the bun it was in, letting my long white-blonde tresses cascade down my head. She smiles at me through the reflection of the mirror.

"I hope that on my wedding day," she smiles at me, looking at my ensemble, "I will look as beautiful as you do now."

"Ten times." I kiss Donnie softly on the top of her head. "You'll look ten times more beautiful, standing next to a man who makes you feel like a princess."

"Does Finnick make you feel that way, too?" She asks, playing with a ribbon gently.

"All of that and more." I bend down, reaching Donnie's height, meeting her pale blue eyes; eyes that have looked up to me and took care of me in more ways that she could imagine for the past seven years.

"You look beautiful, Sissy." She pats my cheek fondly, like a happy mother.

"Thank you, Donnie." I move a stray strand of hair away from her face, curling it behind her ear. She beams at me.

"Well," I turn to the prep team, who was watching us with happy tears in their eyes, "I guess I found my wedding dress."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Happy chapter! AH! It's nice to have a nice, almost-fluff chapter. Brightens the mood up, doesn't it?

Well, can you guys guess what the next chapter will be about? Hmm..

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review or as a private message to me!

And, as per usual, the next chapter will be up tomorrow!


	14. Bliss

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins. **

* * *

The next few days are chaos. Everyone in District 13 is planning the wedding, making decorations and food. Excitement is in the air, and everyone is happy and chattering. The rebel's plan is to show footage of the wedding to the Capitol of District 13, the rebels, enjoying their time at our wedding - a time of happiness even in this war. I don't mind too much; wouldn't it be such a great scandal to the Capitol when they realize that their two favourite 'sellers' are marrying each other?

Finnick can barely sleep, and neither can I. We spend the days getting everything ready, though we don't want something too big or lavish. Something simple is fine. We decide on staying true to the District 4 wedding traditions, though Donnie and I have planned a few District 5 customs out as well.

The wedding day seems to come quickly, in a flash. I haven't had one vision or nightmare ever since Finnick proposed to me. I guess I don't have to train with weapons to 'cure' myself after all.

Katniss' prep team excitedly dresses me and fixes my makeup and hair. Katniss' prep team, unlike my own, keeps things to a minimum. They fixed the hem of my dress; I am taller than Katniss by a few inches and they had to add in another layer from another dress. They even made Donnie a mint green dress to wear, along with a fabric flower to put in her hair.

Donnie smiles, eyes gleaming with tears as she helps me into my high heels and fixes my hair for the last time. She kisses my cheeks lightly and holds my hand tightly as I walk towards the cafeteria, which has been renovated for the wedding. Where everyone was waiting to see me. Where Finnick was waiting.

Before the doors open, before I walk out into the arms of my new husband, Donnie signals me to lean down towards her.

"Mom, Dad, and Enkol would have been so proud." She whispers into my ears. I smile gratefully at her, unable to speak in fear of crying as soon as I try opening my mouth.

Enkol. Mom. Dad. Did I even dream about getting married one day? Not when I had to take care of Donnie. Not when I had to sell myself. The thought never even crossed my mind; no way Snow would have let Finnick and I get married, let us have happiness. Marriage was never even a pipe dream, a fantasy that I had imagined.

And yet, now, I stand in my wedding dress, moments away from marrying the man I love. And my mother, my father, and my twin brother are not here to see me. Here to meet Finnick. Here to hold my hand, wipe my tears, share my special day with me.

But I have Donnie. The last of my family, my baby sister, my caretaker, and my little genius. And she counts for the rest of my lost family.

And I hope that Enkol, mom, and dad are looking down on me, proud. Maybe Donnie is right.

Donnie beams one last time and slips out another door, presumably walking to the very front row, representing my mother, father, and twin brother.

My heart is beating loudly in my chest as I wait. I can just imagine everyone on the other side of the doors, waiting for me. Waiting for me, not Angel. Waiting for who I am, and who I am happy to become.

I try to calm my racing heart as the large doors swing open.

**.**

Finnick's POV

My breath catches when I see her standing at the doorway.

Beautiful. That's the only thing I can think when I see her. Gorgeous. Radiant.

And I know the cameras are watching, Panem is watching as she walks down the aisle to me. But I can only think about how in a few short minutes, she will finally be mine.

Her eyes never leave mine, a smile on her lips.

Her dress is a stunning pale blue strapless dress, the bottom looking like waves mixing in with each other in the ocean, wafting and floating around her. She drifts towards me effortlessly, as if she was walking on water. When she stands in front of me, my eyes cannot take everything in fast enough. She looks at me, her eyes so filled with love and happiness.

"You look beautiful." I whisper to her just before Dalton, a man from District 10 and our priest for today, starts talking.

"You're looking pretty handsome yourself." She smiles.

I was wearing one of Peeta's altered hand-me-down suits. Anxol was probably wearing one of Katniss' second hand dresses. It didn't matter. She looked stunning, as if the dress was made just for her.

Dalton begins speaking, and my hands find hers. She squeezes it reassuringly, clearly excited.

Her hair is in the tight braid around her head the Mags used to do, down to the hook holding the hair up. I choke up a little, remembering how Mags wanted to be at my wedding. She wanted to do Anxol's hair. Wanted to hold our children, she once told me. How impossible that hope is now. I am thankful, grateful, that Anxol has brought a bit of Mags to our wedding, at the very least.

There is a faint gloss on her lips, her eyes slightly lined with black. She was beautiful, even when she woke up with no makeup and only a shirt on.

But now, she was breathtaking. It was hard for me to pry my eyes away from her to listen to Dalton.

He asks us for our vows.

I go first.

"You are my beautiful, silly Angelfish, who, despite having the whole ocean to explore, decided to stay by me. I promise to make sure that you never regret making that choice. I promise to be everything you need and more in life; whether it be a listening friend of a playful lover. I, Finnick Odair, take you, Anxol Enkeli, to be my wife for every second in my life and for every second in the next. I promise to shelter you from the storms and to kiss you when it rains. To hold your hand when the sun shines, to love you in every weather, every situation. To love every single thing about you and to be both honest and faithful to you. I pledge to care for you both emotionally and physically in every way possible and to hold my darling Angelfish through whatever the world throws at us, whether it may be good or bad."  
I manage to get the words out. I mean every single one of them, and I look to Anxol. She is smiling, tears shining in her eyes.

It is her turn next. I listen, taking in every word.

"You once told me that you wouldn't be the knight in shining armor to rescue me, but the fisherman who would always catch me. I promise that I won't take this for granted and to enjoy your embrace for every single day of my life. You are my shield who has always protected me, and I in turn will be the wall who will protect you. I promise that we will always be together to pick up the pieces along the road. I promise to be everything you deserve and to stay afloat even when the ocean is rough. I, Anxol, take you, Finnick, to be my amazing husband for eternity and to stay by your side the whole entire time. I will cherish every factor of our love and take care of you when you need it most and even when you don't. I promise to love everything about you, even the flaws - when I can find one - and to always find you and welcome you as your loyal wife."

She shakes slightly when she reads her vows, but her voice is steady and strong, carrying throughout the cafeteria. When she finishes, she looks up to me again, her familiar pale grey eyes meeting mine.

"I love you, Finn."

"I love you, An."  
"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride!" Dalton proclaims, smiling.

As if there was a magnet pulling us together, our lips meet, her hands reaching up to wrap around my neck. I wrap my own arms around her waist, pulling her even closer.

We didn't pull away from each other. The cheering and applause around us felt muted, like background noise in our own little world together. It didn't matter that all of Panem was watching, that the Capitol was watching us. All that mattered was that her lips was on mine, not showing any signs of leaving anytime soon, that she was pressed close to me, and that she was now my wife.

**.**

It is one of the best nights of my life.

Anxol and I have the first dance, holding each other tight as we sway around the room. She dances with Donnie, bending down to accommodate her height, and I dance with Donnie too, spinning her around and around, delirious with happiness. Johanna refuses to dance with me, but dances with Anxol, the two of them laughing as the twirl each other around. Katniss dances with me, and Anxol dances with Beetee, smiling and talking to the genius who has been teaching her little sister. Boggs dances with Anxol formally, though he still wears his beam, smiling proudly at her like she was his daughter. Haymitch spins Anxol crazily, swinging her back and forth as the two of them laugh uncontrollably.

But she always comes back to me for another dance. And another. And another. Kisses in between swirls, pecks as we hold each other tight. A blissful, peaceful night.

Anxol and I join District 4 and District 5 customs together, bits and pieces of our home in this faraway place. I bring saltwater, and Anxol brings electrical wires. We stand in the middle of the room, ready to join our two very different lives together.

Anxol holds the wires, and I hold the small beaker of saltwater. Hanging from the wires were two lockets, see-through but framed with bronze guards. Donnie designed the wires and lockets herself.

Anxol hands me one of the wires, smiling as she does. Everyone watches, confused but intrigued by the joining of the two districts that they barely knew about.

She nods faintly, a encouraging and elated smile on her lips. I carefully let a few drops of saltwater drip into the special opening that Donnie left in the wires. When the water was coursing through the wires, Anxol stood on the tips of her toes and slipped the wires she was holding onto my head, the locket falling onto my chest. I gently slip the wires over her head, careful not mess the braid that Mags used to do. The wires and lockets looked more like necklaces, intricate silver wires like a chain, the locket a charm of each other.

When both of us were wearing our new necklaces, we leaned in close and kissed, holding each other close for the millionth time that night. As our lips met, the lockets lit up, a light, right next to our pounding, beating hearts.

Saltwater from District 4 and wires from District 5, generating electricity, light.

With the cameras and everyone's eyes trained on us, the lights glowing next our hearts, we showed Panem that water and wires don't just create destruction, electrocution, death.

It creates a light in the darkness.

**.**

They wheel a grand, beautiful cake out. Tall, blue, and looking almost too good to eat. Frosted by Peeta himself; the first step to his recovery. Waves of icing line the bottom of each tier, and Anxol and I cut the cake together. I put some icing on her nose, the way I did in the kitchen during the Quarter Quell so long ago. She sticks out her tongue at me and puts icing on my nose, too.

The cake is as delicious as it is beautiful. By the end of the night, everyone is delirious with happiness and frosting, a cheerful event in the midst of all the war and fighting. But no one is as happy as Anxol and I. It was a blissful, peaceful, perfect night.

Anxol and I are the last to leave the cafeteria. We thank everyone for coming and help clean up as much as we can. When everything is done and all the lights are off, I pick Anxol up like I did so many times before, heavy skirts and all.

She laughs, a melodic, delightful laugh, and hangs on to my neck, the lights still dangling from our necks. A symbol of our love, bright in this dark world, inextinguishable. Her skirt trails on the floor behind us as I run all the way to our compartment, finally setting her down.

We collapse on the bed, the mattress bouncing a few times with our weight.

She rolls on top of me, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. She presses her lips to mine and I smile, the taste of her lips never tiring me, always reminding me of all that I have.

Together at last.

It feels like perfection.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

AH! Wedding at last! How did you like it?

I, for one, loved writing this chapter. But then again, I am my own worst critic, so of course, there are a few things in here that I wish I could somehow change for the better.

But, what did you think of it? Love it? Hate it? Let me know!

Special thanks to _Dear reader-we're book addicts _for giving me the wonderful, amazing idea of the saltwater & wires generating a light. It actually does, and it was really interesting to do some research on it. Of course, my own description of it in this chapter probably wasn't exactly right for the terms and scientific stuff, but then again, when was I ever a scientist?

And, if you're reading this by now, I think you would know about the new image/cover thing that's going on through . If you're wondering, yes, I will be making a cover, but then again, I can't edit for my life. So please, please, don't chase after me with pitchforks if it's not what you expected. Brownie points for trying, I guess? It's a work in progress so far.

BUT, if you want to make a cover yourself, or just want to submit a draw or edit, that would be wonderful. It's all up to you, though, of course.

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	15. Soar or Fall

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**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

For the next few days, it feels like I am in heaven.

Mrs. Odair. I liked the ring it had to it. I can't stop smiling, can't stop marvelling at every single little thing. Finnick holds my hand every minute of the day, and Donnie is ecstatic, jumping up and down at the prospect of living together when this rebellion was over.

Beetee reassured me that Donnie wasn't doing anything like making poison or weapons, merely helping him out with hacking the Capitol's computers and sending out the propos to Panem. However, Donnie said that she missed going outdoors every day and going to school, though she is learning a lot from Beetee. I tell her that I want to live in District 4 when this is all over. Donnie says that she wants to, too.

We both don't mention that this may never end. Or that this may end with the both of us corpses in a pile of dead rebels.

I try not to think of that. Try not to think of the rebellion raging, people dying. Of Finnick training, Finnick shooting the guns.

I focus on Finnick next to me, his hand in mine. Donnie's sweet smile, Johanna's wry comebacks. Think about the ocean waiting for you. Think about being Mrs. Odair. This will all be over soon. Don't worry.

And for a few blissful days, I am only thinking about all the good. No nightmares. No visions. _Don't. Let. Them. Overtake. You._

You are Finnick's wife now. You have to be strong. For him. For yourself.

One day, during lunch, Peeta comes up to us in shackles, flanked by two guards. He asks if he can sit with us. Johanna, Finnick, Gale, Katniss, Delly; Katniss' friend from District 12, and I are a little hesitant to agree, but we let him anyways.

"I'm not quite trustworthy yet," says Peeta. "I can't even sit here without your permission." He nods to the guards next to him.

"Sure he can sit here. We're old friends." says Johanna, patting the space next to her. The guards let Peeta sit where Johanna indicates; I was sitting on the other side of Johanna with Finnick. "Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We're very familiar with each other's screams."

Finnick looks worriedly at me, and I remember whispering all about Katniss Everdeen through my cell to Peeta, kneeling in my own blood as Johanna screamed.

"Good times." I said wryly, my only response.

The air around the table is suddenly tense, bringing up the Capitol once again. We all pick at our food, but none of us really eat anything.

"Anxol," says Delly brightly, "did you know it was Peeta who decorated your wedding cake? Back home, his family ran the bakery and he did all the icing."

"Thank you, Peeta. It was a really beautiful cake." I smile warmly at him. He is like me. Healing. Johanna, Peeta, and I are all healing. In different ways. It will take time.

"My pleasure, Anxol." Peeta says gently to me. He smiles faintly at me, and I wonder if he remembers smiling at me and Finnick all those times at the training arena. That he picked Finnick and I to be part of his alliance. That I tried to help him remember Katniss when the Capitol made him forget.

"If we're going to fit in that walk, we better go, Angelfish." Finnick smiles at me. He said he was going to take me aboveground, the first time in so many months that I could actually breathe in fresh air again. I smile back at him. He keeps on holding my hand. "Good seeing you, Peeta."  
"You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you." Peeta says, voice icy, a quick transition from his previous warmth. It's not the joking warning Johanna gave Finnick when we told her about our engagement. It wasn't even close to Donnie's wordless laugh-threat when we told her we were going to get married. No, this sounded like a real threat, and it makes me second-guess how much Peeta remembers about us after all.

"Oh, Peeta." Finnick says lightly, though his hand is clenching almost painfully onto mine. "Don't make me sorry that I restarted your heart."  
Then we quickly leave, retreat aboveground, away from the tension at the table.

I take a deep gulp of fresh air, and it feels like jumping into a cool lake on a hot summer's day. Refreshing. Cool. The greens of the trees and grass are brighter than I remembered, and the sky is a shade of blue that I seemed to have forgotten. I spin around slowly, taking everything in. Finnick grins at my reaction.

We sit down on the lush grass, just watching the trees sway in silence.

"Are you thinking about Peeta?" I ask, noting Finnick's worried expression.

"Would you ever leave me, Anxol?" He asks suddenly, avoiding my question and my gaze.

"Finnick! We just got married a few days ago!" I exclaim. "Besides, I said in my vow: ' I, Anxol, take you, Finnick, to be my amazing husband for eternity and to stay by your side the whole entire time.'"

Finnick still doesn't turn to meet my eyes, fiddling with a piece of grass.

"Finn." I said, gently turning his head so that he would have to meet my eyes. "I love you. Remember? Your Angelfish promised that she always come back to you. And now I promise that I will never leave you."

His green eyes soften, a small smile blooming on his lips.

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" I laugh, kissing him on the lips. "Now who's the silly one?"

"I guess I am." He grins, his old lopsided grin. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just so worried about this rebellion and everything."

"It's alright." I smile, cuddling next to him. "We're all a bit worried right now."

"Except for you, my little Angelfish." Finnick smiles deviously. "You're the ray of sunshine in this dark world."

Before I could answer though, he tackles me to the floor and starts tickling me crazily while I laugh uncontrollably.

And so, a tickle-war erupted.

**.**

Finnick always starts the contests between us. And he always wins, though I wouldn't admit it to him.

This time was no exception.

"Okay, okay, you win." I gasp, breathless, stomach hurting from laughing so hard. Tickling was like being assaulted, but forcing you to laugh to cover up any suspicion from any passerby.

"Finnick Odair," Finnick pants, "always wins. Remember that."  
"Well, you started it." I stick out my tongue at him, still laying in the grass. "Besides, since I'm the new Mrs. Odair, don't I get part of that winning charm or something?"

Finnick laughs.

"Indeed you do, Mrs. Odair." He grins, giving me a quick peck. "It's a tie then."

Finnick lies down in the grass next to me. We both just stare up at the sky, at the moving clouds. Wondering how something can move so calmly and slowly when a rebellion is rumbling just below it.

"Anxol." Finnick turns his head to me. I turn to meet his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I have to tell you something." He looks serious, no longer laughing.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember anything about...snow? Mountains? Anything of that sort? A place where the Hunger Games didn't exist?" He asks me nervously.

"Snow? Nope. The only mountains I saw was in... the Hunger Games I won." I answer, remembering the snow that encased me in the cave. The ram that punctured Josephine's body. What if she was alive today? Would her baby be named Finnick Odair Jr.? Would she be surprised that at this moment, I was the new Mrs. Odair?

Finnick looks at me, concerned. I shake my head slightly, just before the visions start coming. I continue my answer as if nothing had happened.

"No. I often wish the Hunger Games didn't exist. I'm hoping it won't, soon. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that..." Finnick props himself up on the elbows. "Well. I'm not too sure how to start."

"It's alright. You can start anytime, anywhere you want." I get up to face him. "I'll be waiting."

He sits up, and I sit in front of him, my back resting on his chest. He wraps his arms around me; familiar, warm, and comforting.

"It has to do with Enkol." Finnick starts, rushed.

I freeze slightly, remembering watching him die in front of me. Electrocuted. What were his last words? _Care. Bella. Love. _Take care of Donnie. I love you. Would he be proud of me today? I wish Finnick got to meet him. I remember his Games in a horrible detail. Blood. The knife in his hands when he decided to kill. The charred remains of his body. The lights going out in his eyes. Dying. My own reflection, dead. One million times over.

"Anxol. It's alright. It's okay." Finnick whispers softly into my neck. "I don't have to continue if you don't want me to."  
"No. I want to know. I'm fine." I twist to look at him, smiling uneasily.

"He came to me the night before the Games started." Finnick takes a deep breath. I can feel him inhaling and exhaling, his heartbeat beating in time with my own. "He told me something. About your family."

I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue.

"He said that you weren't born here." He whispered into my neck, his words and his breath sending chills up my spine. "You didn't come from Panem."

"What about Donnie? What about her?" That's the only thing my brain can register. Donnie. She has always been my first priority. Well, now, I guess she's tied with Finnick.

"She wasn't, I don't think. But you, your parents, and Enkol were." Finnick continues, rubbing his fingers on my stomach in a hypnotizing pattern. "He said that he remembered, but you didn't. You came here and found refuge in District 5."

"Is that why the Capitol is killing us off?" I ask softly. "Because we're from somewhere else?"

My suspicions. They were right. The Capitol was slowly picking off my family, one by one. Was I next? Or was it Donnie? Now I know why. But now a new question erupts: how?

"I'm afraid so." Finnick answers, confirming it. "I'm sorry."  
"Why did Enkol tell you?" I ask, turning to look up at Finnick's green eyes.

"He said he trusted me. He made me promise to protect you." He confesses. "And I did. I would've done the same for my own little sister. But then, I realized how amazing you are. And then I fell in love with you. And it's thanks to Enkol that I did, really."

I smile sadly to myself. Enkol had done one last favor for me. He had led Finnick to me, led me to Finnick. He has given me love and protection from the world when I thought there was none left. Enkol, who had cared for me until the end, and then even past the grave.

"He's not lying." I murmur out, almost to myself.

"You remember?" Finnick asks, sounding shocked.

"No. Not really." I smile sadly. "But it would explain a lot of things."

"It would."

"Do you think we could ever go back?" I ask hopefully. Maybe a view of the place could jog my memory. "Back to where I came from? Wherever it is?"

"Oh, Angelfish. I wish we could. I wish I could sail you and Donnie out on my boat to find it." He chuckles bitterly. "But Enkol said that it flooded. That's why you came here. There's nowhere else in this world but Panem now."

We sit in silence, just holding each other. Wondering for how much longer Panem will be corrupted, how much longer we will have to endure Snow's rule.

Wonder if the rebellion will soar, or if it will go down in flames.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Sorry if this chapter was really terrible. I am seriously busy today and I wish I could've taken the time out to write a better chapter. Sorry!

I see all of these covers for stories and I am sooo impressed. And extremely jealous, because my stuff will never look like that. Yup, mainly jealous. If you're wondering, I will be putting up a cover sometime tomorrow or the day after. I wish I could procrastinate and do it today, but I just can't afford to slack off today. So, unfortunately, my story will look really sucky next to some of the others. Ah, oh well. Don't judge a book by its cover, right?

Anyways, if you have any questions, comments, feedback, or suggestions, feel free to leave it as a review!

A better chapter up tomorrow!


	16. Fairytales

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Things started having a routine. One I was happy to follow.

Have breakfast with Finnick. While Finnick went to training, spend time with Donnie either with Beetee or aboveground. Have lunch with Johanna, Finnick, Katniss, Gale, Delly, and occasionally, Peeta. And then when Finnick goes back to training, talk to Johanna and Katniss. Maybe even Gale. Have dinner with Finnick. Go to bed with Finnick. Wake up. Repeat.

And then when Katniss and Johanna decided to train to be rebels, I would help them study out of the manuals they received. Reading about it was still manageable. I would test out the procedures and rules while they struggled to catch up with the training.

Days passed. Weeks, even. My routine was the most normal I've had in a long time. I followed it, happy with Finnick, chattering with Donnie. Friendly with Johanna and Katniss. The relapses from the Capitol were less frequent, the nightmares stopping altogether.

And then everything changed.

Finnick is assigned to be on the sharpshooter squad Katniss and Gale; the 'Star Squad' that was to go to the Capitol and kill Snow. They want as many victors as possible. I have not trained, and am still deemed 'unstable'. Johanna does not have enough training yet. Beetee will be working behind the scenes at District 13, but he will not be flying to the Capitol. Same with Haymitch.

But Finnick will be going. He will be fighting, shooting at the Capitol. He will be going to the Capitol, who have no doubt planned out traps for the rebels. Who want the rebels killed.

Who want Finnick killed.

"Finn, are you sure you want to do this?" I ask quietly the night before he left.

"An, I have to. Think about what will happen if we succeed. No more Hunger Games. Like where you came from. We don't have to worry about Donnie being Reaped." He says soothing, rubbing my arm reassuringly. "Don't worry. We'll win. We'll beat Snow."  
I try not to think about what will happen if we don't. What would happen to my husband.

_So many risks. So many dangers. What if. What if. What if. Aren't you supposed to protect him, like how he protected you? You can't, now can you?_

_Weak._

"I'll be fine." He smiles at me, green eyes comforting and familiar. "Now, let's get some sleep."  
I nod like a child and follow him to bed, inching as close to him as possible.

I close my eyes and fall into a fitful sleep, his arms slung over me, holding me close and pressing him to his chest. He is asleep in seconds, his breathing even and his heartbeat ringing in my ears.

He will be fine.

Will I?

**.**

I don't want to let him go. But he is a grown man, and he can make choices by himself. This will be what's best for Donnie. This will be what's best for Panem. My husband will fight and win. He will be fine. I will be fine. Do not worry.

But my heart thuds painfully in my chest when I stand in front of Finnick before he leaves to board the hovercraft that will take him to the Capitol.

This is not goodbye. Not a farewell. This is only temporary. _Do. Not. Worry._

"Don't worry, Angelfish." He smiles, kissing me softly on the forehead. "I'll be back soon."  
I nod, forcing myself to believe his words. I manage a small smile at him, looking up at his beautiful green eyes.

"Promise you'll come home?"

"I promise."

He kisses me one last time on the lips, and I try to savor the taste of his lips on mine. Seawater and sugar.

Then he hugs me tightly before letting go, all outfitted in his rebel uniform, swinging his gun over his shoulder. I shiver slightly when I see it. I wave sadly to Gale and Katniss and Peeta, who had been added onto the squad recently, as they board the hovercraft along with a few other rebels. Finnick boards the hovercraft last, his eyes never leaving mine.

He smiles, green eyes glinting in the silver of the hovercraft. He mouths something, and I can just make out a few more words before the doors close completely.

_I love you._

Then I'm forced to stand back as the hovercraft takes off. I close my eyes, the wind prickling my eyes shut, making my hair wave furiously in the air.

When I open my eyes again, the hovercraft is gone; my husband in it, flying to the place where people want to kill him.

He is gone.

**.**

"I can't believe it!"

Johanna is fuming, angry that they didn't allow her to go to the Capitol to fight. I am secretly glad that she is not going, simply because I need the support and comfort that she provides just by being with me. But she is livid. She wants payback. She wants to kill for what the Capitol has done to her. Done to her family.

She rants for what feels like hours, and I am there to offer a sympathetic ear and the occasional comment. It is what is best for the both of us. She lets off her anger without hurting anyone, and I am taking my mind off things.

But the night is lonely.

Johanna prefers to sleep in the compartment she and Katniss shared, to throw some things around or throw some knives as some dangerously close passerby. I don't know. I've never checked.

So instead, I stumble over to Donnie's compartment, a small, neat room with all her new notebooks and experiments placed around the shelves and desks.

"Can I stay the night, Donnie? Please?" I practically beg her, though we both know the answer.

"Of course you can." She smiles, pleased at the sight of company.

She retires early for the night, and I tuck her in like I used to, and even though a few months have passed, she has grown up so much.

She lies down, eyes wide and unsleeping.

"Tell me a story, Annie." She asks sweetly, smiling up at me. I'm curled around her bed, not quite on, not quite off.

I can barely remember the fairytales and legends our parents used to tell us. I can barely even remember how they look like. It's been eleven years since they died. Seven years since Enkol died. I cannot harbor any of my old life with them anymore. They have disappeared, faded from my brain like melting snow.

So instead, I make up a story.

"Once upon a time, there was a pair of twins." I start, smiling down fondly at Donnie, who watches me with starry eyes. "There was one girl and one boy. The boy was older than the girl by one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and he loved to remind the girl of this."  
Neither Donnie and I commented on the obvious fact that the boy and the girl was Enkol and I. Donnie only closed her eyes, as if she was trying to picture everything in her analytical mind.

"The twins had a beautiful mama and papa who cared for them very much." I smiled. "The twins looked like their mama, as their papa had beautiful dark blonde hair and pale blue eyes whereas the twins had white-blonde hair and pale grey eyes."

"The twins were born in a small town that snowed every day, beautiful crystal snowflakes that looked like jewels falling from the sky. There were mountains that were like staircases to heaven, and everyone in the town were friends. They all had different jobs that helped the town to function." I continued, making the details up. Are they from my imagination? Or my memory?

"The twin's mama sewed beautiful clothing. And the papa hunted animals for the mama to cook meat and sew lovely fur coats."

I take a deep breath and continue.

"The boy was always making friends, going outside to play in the snow with his friends. He was loud and friendly and everybody liked him. His sister, however, was quite the opposite. She liked to stay inside and read books, or help her mama out. She had few friends and rarely talked to them." I smile sadly. "But the boy still loved his sister, and the girl loved her brother, despite their differences. They were each other's best friends, and they knew more about each other than they knew about anyone else."

"Is this a happy story? Or a sad one?" Donnie interrupts, eyes fluttering open.

"Which one do you want it to be?" I ask, toying with Donnie's long hair gently.

"Can I have both?" She asks, closing her eyes again, a content smile on her face.

"Of course you can." I smile at her young, innocent face.

"Here's the happy one." I continue again. "The twins continued to go to school. Their mama and papa continued to work, and every day, they welcomed the twins home with cookies and hot cocoa. They would smile at dinner and laugh and hug and kiss each other."

Donnie smiled, eyes closed.

"And then one day, the twins came home to some beautiful news. Their mama was going to have a baby! And so, for the next nine months, the papa and the twins took care of their mama and made sure she was happy and healthy. And finally, the baby was born. The twins had a beautiful baby sister, and then it was a family of five."

"The baby was a beautiful baby girl who looked like her father. She had rosy cheeks and beautiful big pale blue eyes. Everyone loved this baby, and the twins would always play with her. The mama and papa were happy, and they continued to take care of their growing family."

"And then, the twins grew up to be a good young man and woman. Their little sister grew up to be a sweet young girl. The twins got married and had children, and their littler sister got married and had children, too, later on." I whispered, holding Donnie's hand. "The mama and papa became grandmama and grandpapa and they stayed at home to take care of their grandbabies while the twins and little sister worked happily at their jobs."

"They lived for many, many years in their snow-white town, and they died together, but the snow around them seemed to keep them alive forever." I finished, smiling faintly myself.

"What about the sad one?" Donnie breathed.

"Before they had their baby sister, their town started to experience rain. Lots and lots of rain. No more snow." I started. "And the ocean that used to surround the town roared and came closer and closer to the houses."

"So the papa made a boat out of the house his own grandpapa built. The mama sewed thick, warm coats and made delicious food for all of them. And then, when all the coats and boat was finished, the little family got on the boat with all their food and jackets and sailed away." I whispered. "The family sailed away on their little boat with very few things from their home. They watched as the ocean ate up their little town, along with their old lives."

"So the little family sailed for many, many days. For many weeks. Many months on their little sailboat, across the great, roaring ocean that threatened to swallow them up, too. They were running out of food." I could imagine it so perfectly in my head. Is it my overactive imagination again? Or is it a memory, fished out the crevices of my mind? It has been too long.

"The girl twin was scared. She was scared of the ocean that slapped the boat, scared of the rocking waves that wanted to carry her away. She couldn't sleep, and cried every day; enough tears to make an ocean of her own."

"And then?" Donnie whispered faintly.

"And then the family finally saw land. At first they thought it was clouds, because the land was so grey and colorless. But it was land. And the family finally set foot on steady ground for the first time in many months." I continued, squeezing Donnie's small hands. "And the people of this grey land welcomed the family, but spoke in hushed tones. They warned this family of the dangers of the land. They snuck the family into their homes until the family could build one of their own."  
"Finally, the family built their own house. A small, tiny house. The mama and papa worked, but they were no longer seamstresses or hunters. They had to work in this big building that used lightning to filled houses with light. At first, the mama and papa were scared, because they had never seen something like that before. They had only used candles." I narrate, and Donnie sighs softly, imagining the warm glow of the candles that the ocean swallowed. "The family was scared of this new land. But slowly, they got used to it. They quickly learned that the grey land that accepted them was not the only area of the land they now lived in. In fact, the land was divided up into thirteen parts. Twelve parts worked. One controlled and received all fruits of their labor."  
"That's unfair." Donnie mumbles.

"It is. But they couldn't do anything about it because this one area was big, strong, and scary. And as a reminder of their power, every year, they would send one boy and one girl from the twelve areas to their land. These boys and girls were all teens. The people of this ruling land would not let anyone younger or older come to their land. And then, when all these girls and boys entered the land, they would be dressed up, admired, then thrown out." I continued. "The girls and boys had to kill each other, you see. They were forced to, because they were put in this big cage filled with weapons and dangers and if they didn't kill, the ruling land would kill them _and _their families. So the boys and the girls would kill each other, until there was only one person left. This person was a winner, and was granted food and riches for the rest of their lives."

"Now, back to the family. The mama was expecting a baby. Nine months passed, and a beautiful baby girl was born, one that looked their papa. One day, the mama and papa were working hard in this big lightning building when a real lightning bolt hit them. The mama and papa were burnt black and they could no longer take care of their children." I whispered, feeling the tears coming. "The twins cried and cried, and they had to take care of their little sister, who was only one years old at the time of their parent's death. So the twins worked hard and sold their house to buy a smaller one. And they lived, somewhat normally, for a few more years."

I could see tears sliding down Donnie's cheeks. I could feel tears on my own cheeks.

"What happened next?"

"The boy was picked to go to the ruling land to kill when their little sister was four years old. He was burnt black, too, and the two little sisters were left alone in this big, unfamiliar world. And then one year later, his twin sister was picked to go to the ruling land. But this time, the girl burnt the cage closing her in and the people inside black. And the twin sister was the last one standing, and was given a big house and lots of food." I whispered, voice shaking. "But the sister was not happy. The twin sister sold her soul to the ruler of all the lands because the ruler said that if she didn't, then he would kill her little baby sister. And so, the twin sister lived without a soul, and she tried not to tell her baby sister about what she did."

Donnie smiled faintly, the tears running thick now.

"But then the twin sister met a fisherman. The fisherman didn't have a soul, too, as the ruler made the same deal with him. The sister had been afraid of the ocean ever since her journey across the sea to the grey land, but this fisherman protected her from the waves and taught her to love the water like he did. The sister and the fisherman fell in love, and they became the soulless couple in secret because if the ruler knew about the two of them, then he would kill them both."

"How romantic." Donnie whispered. "And tragic."

"It was tragic, indeed. And then the baby sister found out about her soulless sister and her fisherman. She was angry, but she knew it had to be done. And so a few more years passed, again, somewhat normal. But then one day, the areas became very angry at the leader. So then they started fighting, and the fisherman, the twin, and her baby sister were caught in the middle of it." I murmured. "The baby sister was a genius who planned for victory, and the fisherman was a soldier who fought for the angry areas; for victory. The twin went mad with worry, but the fisherman loved her anyways. The two of them got married, and then the fisherman had to go leave to fight the bad ruler."

"And then?" Donnie urged, as if she needed to know the end of this story. As if it was the knowledge to the rest of our lives.

I can only think of one ending.

"And then," I choked out, tears running thick down my cheeks, "the fisherman died winning. And the twin sister died of grief for her lost husband, whom she loved dearly. And the baby sister grew up, all alone."  
"What happened to her?" Donnie whispered, fearful.

"The last sister became wise and smart and became the new ruler of all the lands. She was a good ruler and everybody loved her. She found a man who loved her as much as she loved him, and they had many children. And the last sister finally lived a completely normal life, but she never forgot her family." I finished, barely getting the words out.

I lie down on the bed next to Donnie, squishing in next to her. Donnie curls up to me, and I cry in her hair while she cries into my shirt.

"They're both good and bad stories, aren't they?" Donnie asks through her tears. "There really is no complete one of each, is there?"

"No, my dearest Donnie, there isn't. There's just hope and faith, and lots of waiting to see how the story really ends." I whisper into her dark blonde hair.

"Do you think we'll get a happily ever after?" Donnie inquires quietly, barely even audible.

"I hope so, Donnie." I answer softly. "But that's all we can do right now. Hope."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

AH! I know - massively long chapter. Again, I had no idea where to cut it into two parts, because then one would be way too short. So, I did my usual technique - smashing it all together to make one long chapter. Sorry if I wasted your time with it; I got a bit carried away writing the last part. Oops. I'll try restraining myself a little better next time.

Anyways, I will be posting up a cover sometime today or tomorrow (I really, really, really, hope that it'll be tonight - it's starting to bug me now. I have OCD in these kinds of things.) I'm like a little kid when it comes to making these things, even though I suck. Sorry about that.

And, I was wondering, since it was mentioned a few times previously - if you guys want me to create a short sub-story as an epilogue or prologue to these series when I'm done writing this sub-story? I am completely open to suggestions, since I really go both ways with these things. So, if you want an epilogue or prologue sub-story to continue Anxol and Finnick's story, please let me know through a message or put it in your review!

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback? Let me know in a review!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	17. Left for Dead

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading!

If you have any questions, comments, feedback, or suggestions, feel free to leave it as a review!

If you would like a prologue or an epilogue sub-story to follow this series, please also let me know either by a private message or by a review. Thank you so much to all who have already reviewed so far, and who continue to!

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins. **

* * *

Donnie and I stay in bed for the next day. Or maybe it was for more than one day. For all I knew, it could have been months.

But all I know was that we were wrapped together in a tight embrace, thinking about twins, fishermen, and happy endings.

I couldn't think about anything except for Finnick. What is he doing now? Is he still alive? Is he fighting? Did he kill anyone yet? Is Snow dead? Have we won? How much longer until Finnick comes back?

And that's how Katniss finds me, curled up next to Donnie, eyes wild and crazed with worry despite Finnick's reassurances.

She takes one look at me, and I can see the answer in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Anxol. He's gone."

**.**

He can't be gone. He promised. He said he would come back. He promised.

_Promises don't outweigh fate._

I cry. I'm sobbing uncontrollably, pleading Katniss to tell me what happened. How is it that she, Gale, and Peeta are all intact, but my Finnick is not? I beg her to just please, please, at least tell me what happened to him.

But she won't tell me. I'm still too 'unstable', still the mad girl that cannot handle violence. I cannot handle not knowing. She keeps her lips shut and I keep the tears flowing.

I go down on my knees.

_Please. Please, please, just tell me. Please._

And she looks down on me, eyes as empty as my own. She is hurting too, though both Peeta and Gale are still with her. She provides no answers and I provide no condolences for her lost sister.

Finnick. The fisherman. My wall. My protecter. My husband. My _husband._

And I beg Haymitch, too. He, too, zips his lips; if he knows, he's not telling, and if he doesn't, he's still not telling.

So I turn to my last resort: Peeta. I plead for answers from him, tears streaming down my face. I almost seemed to have forgotten every word I've known except for the word _please._

"We lost him, Anxol." Peeta looks at me, blue eyes normal once again, filled with sorrow. "He's just gone."

"How do you lose a full grown man?" I screech. "How could you lose my Finnick?"

Johanna and Donnie have to pry me away from Peeta; I'm clawing to him, and I will resort to violence to get the answers I want. I have to know. I need to know.

They drug me, numbing me. I fall into unconsciousness for days, or so they tell me. Donnie is always by my bed, and Johanna is a frequent visitor. The morphling clouds the truth and takes away the pain. It feels nice. I can see why Johanna chose this over the hurt and pain. I choose it, too.

But they cut off my supply. I'm left staring at the white ceiling as Donnie and Johanna look at me with pity and hurt in their eyes.

_He'sgonehe'sgonehe'sgonehe'sgonehe'sgonehe'sgonehe'sgone._

The voice inside my head comes back.

"Show me the body." I rasp out after the voice speaks. "Tell me the truth."

But no one ever replies.

And the visions come, full blast. All of them involve Finnick, though some have Enkol, Donnie, and Johanna too. But Finnick is the spotlight, the main feature, and he does not leave my mind.

They don't tell me what happened to him. So my mind makes up the details. The voices make up the screams, and Snow's old visor makes up the scenarios. I can see him, all the ways that he could have died. All the ways he could have left me.

And it's worse than before, because now I know that these visions could actually be his end, that when I wake up, I will not have his hand to hold or his words to listen to. They are worse because I know they are true. He is dead, and I am alone.

They don't know that not telling me is worse. They don't know that my brain is slowly deteriorating and my mind is being taken over by these visions. They are all so vivid, so real, so disturbing. I am there with them, helpless. I am watching as he dies, and this time I know that it is for real. This is his death cry. This is his last breath.

This is me breaking all over again.

And I want it to _stop, _this will stop when he comes back, but he is dead and he has left me. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to get the images out of my mind. I scream because he's screaming, and because I want my voice to drown out his.

But the tears never stop. Uncontrollable, thick, pouring. They create a puddle, a lake, an ocean that divides me from him. I am stranded on this island, surrounded by my tears, and I am waiting for someone who will never come.

I run out tears, run out of hope. And now, I am truly a broken shell of girl; soulless, hollow with nothing but her demons and fear raging inside of her.

**.**

Hopeless. Soulless. Lifeless.

My life feels so deprived of so many things.

Every day, I am in the corner of the hospital room, shaking my head slightly, eyes empty, not eating, not talking, but feeling all too much.

_Cover my eyes  
Cover my ears_

Finnick is dead. Finnick has died saving Panem. He is dead. My husband. No more kisses. No more love. No more embraces and no more nights with him. Finnick is dead, and he is not coming back.

_Tell me these words are a lie_

Donnie tries talking to me. So does Johanna. Sometimes, even Beetee or Peeta comes over to talk to me. Their voices are like distant buzzing in my ears, and I can't for my life try and understand what they're trying to tell me. Is it advice? Comfort? Reassurance? Anger? I don't know. I don't know.

_It can't be true  
That I'm losing you_

The tears don't stop. I wish they would, but they are constant, like rivers flowing from my eyes. I tell myself to pull myself together, to be strong. I still have to take care of Donnie. But no, I need some time first. Just give me one more day of tears, and then I will begin the long journey of piecing myself together again. Alone this time. No Finnick by my side.

_Can you hear heaven cry_

_The tears of an angel_

I can start understanding what people are saying to me. Donnie pleads and cry, and I wipe away her tears. She wails out that the fisherman died winning, but she does not want the twin sister to die of grief in this lonely world. I whisper in her ear that at least one of us will have a happy ending. I tell her to be a good girl and to help Beetee until her Sissy is good again.

When the rebels finally realize that I am capable of speech and hearing, they bring me to a meeting. All the remaining victors are here. President Coin, the leader of District 13 and the rebellion, asks us all if we should have a special Hunger Games just for the Capitol citizens.

I know each and every one of their secrets. Though despicable, they are human underneath all those tattoos and makeup. My secrets have bruised, maybe even killed. They are like poor helpless chickens, running around with their heads cut off. They are not used to this disorder, this panic, this lack of control from their leader, Snow.

I will not kick them while they are down. Though some of them, namely Snow, have done that to me, I will not to that do them. I will not stoop to their level.

I vote no, we should not have a Hunger Games for the Capitol citizens. Finnick would have agreed with me. But I am overruled. Majority wins, and we will be having a very special Hunger Games.

And I am left wondering if there is still bad in this world, even in the good people.

And I watch Katniss kill President Coin, the leader of District 13. I watch as Katniss kills President Snow, and I wish I could have been the one who killed him. He didn't deserve to die, choking. I would have broke him to tatters. Cut out all his organs. Peel off his skin. Boil him in oil. I can't stop thinking of ways I could have killed him. Ways Finnick could have died.

I am painstakingly piecing together myself, only for my work to be shattered to pieces when the visions come back.

**.**

Donnie and I move to District 4, like we had planned.

Like Finnick and I planned. Like we had hoped.

His house is still intact, like it was waiting for him to come home. But instead of the tall, strong, tanned man walking through the doors of the waiting house, a pale wisp of a girl comes instead.

I sleep in his bed. I wear his clothes. I sit by the sea all day, listening to its waves. Donnie sits next to me and plays in the sand, but she is quickly bored. Though she is mother-like, she has never completely taken care of me before. She tries to smile and tries to cheer me up. She chatters on and on, pointless topics, and I cannot respond. My voice has stopped working. I can barely see her through the visions that are blocking me from reality.

Donnie cries in her sleep. And underneath the visions that have almost completely taken over me, I hate myself. Hate myself for not protecting my little sister. Hate myself for doing this to her. After two weeks of keeping her trapped with me, I set her free.

"Go live with Beetee, okay?" I manage to form out the words. "Write to me at least once every week to let me know how you're doing."

Donnie nods and packs up quickly. She takes the first rebuilt train to District 3. I kiss her goodbye and wish her the best. This is what's best for her. No one should be wasting away trying to take care of me, especially the bright genius, Donnie.

And I am left all alone once again.

* * *

I used a song in this chapter, just because I wanted to incorporate it in. I only used a bit of the chorus, and it's in the chapter somewhere in italics. It's called 'Tears of an Angel' by Ryandan, and when I first heard it, I really liked it and thought it could fit in with this chapter.

Want to come at me with pitchforks now? Trust me, I felt like stabbing my eyeball with a fork when I wrote this chapter. I completely understand.

_But the story still continues..._

...tomorrow.


	18. Rebuild

Thanks for clicking & hopefully reading! (And if you're still reading after the last chapter I posted, I SALUTE YOU.)

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins. **

* * *

The waves crash against the shore. The seagulls squawk merrily. The hammers pound into wood, fixing the District again. Everything is abuzz, moving, fixing, rebuilding.

I sit, still as stone, on the sandy beach in front of Finnick's house.

One month.

For one month, I sit in front of the crashing waves. For one month, I am slowly, mentally picking myself back up again. Don't think about the ways he could have died. Don't think about his body never coming home. Don't think about all the promises, all the things you'll miss.

But don't forget about him.

The task feels hopeless at first. With every passing second, my brain would wander to Finnick. How could it not? I was living in his home, wearing his clothes, seeing the ocean. It was impossible.

But slowly, slowly, I managed to stop. Stop thinking about the bad things. About the sad feelings. Restrict myself from falling into the depths of madness. Since there is no Finnick to pull me away from the gaping hole of insanity, I have to use other ways. Dip my feet into the cold ocean. Dig my fingers into the sand. Braid my hair the way Mags used to do it. Keep my fingers and my mind busy.

Commander Paylor from the District 13 rebels becomes the new ruler of Panem. There is no special Games for the Capitol. She is originally from District 8, and is a good leader. She pieces together Panem as I piece together my mind.

Every week, I get a letter from Donnie. She gushes and enthuses about the schools and facts, and I write back replies to her, trying to sound happy; like I'm getting better. Sometimes, I almost fool myself.

One day, one month after Finnick's death, I get a letter from President Paylor.

She wants to invite me to the Capitol. Let me look around. She thinks it will be good for my mind. Good for me. Her letter is sympathetic and does not mention Finnick once. I write back quickly accepting her offer. A train will be coming to pick me up in a few days to take me to her new home at the rebuilding Capitol.

On the train, I stay in the storage room, with the crates and boxes. I can't go back to the compartment. There are too many memories that will try to suffocate me, try to break down my meticulously pieced half-finished self. There are already enough memories just from boarding the train itself.

President Paylor finds me in the back, with the crates and chickens, a mess of tears and stained clothes. I am a skeleton. I can't eat, and I haven't been sleeping. I am a mess, dirty in her new home.

But she guides me to the best rooms they have rebuilt, and she lets me take a long, hot shower. Paylor forces me to eat, using the same tone that she used when she was known as Commander Paylor. You have to listen to her. I eat as much food as I can, and I force myself not to hurl it back up again.

The bed is so soft and comfortable, I sink into sleep within seconds, even after weeks of barely an hour of sleep each day. I fall into a deep sleep, and find myself awake two days later.

"I almost thought you went into a coma." Paylor jokes when she sees me at the breakfast table.

I smile half-heartedly and sit down, eating the food she places in front of me.

"Well, Anxol, you're here because I would like for you to help me rebuild the Capitol." Paylor explains. "You have been at the Capitol the most out of everyone I know, and you would know all the faults and benefits of all the buildings. You can design it any way you want. Are you up for the job?"

I sit silently, staring at my empty plate. Finnick was last at the Capitol before his death. He was here.

"It would be better than staying at Four every single day." She reaches out for my hand and pats it gently. "A change of scenery would be good for you."

_He'sdeadhe'sgonehe'sdeadhe'sgonehe'sdeadhe'sgonehe'sdeadhe'sgone._

I need to fix myself. I need to be strong, for him. He wouldn't want to see me like this. This will be a big step to recovery. But can I handle it?  
"Okay." I answer quietly. "I'll do it."

**.**

Paylor starts off with taking down any half-broken buildings. She moves away all the debris and all the corpses, planning their burial. She urges me to come with her, to guide her around the Capitol. She is relentlessly asking me, and I give in to her requests. She smiles and leads me throughout the Capitol.

It should be satisfying, seeing the Capitol as broken as I was. But it wasn't. Every path reminded me of my old job. Everything reminded me of Finnick comforting me. I had to force my mind to stay with Paylor and her plans.

She leads me to a neighbourhood, houses half demolished. Paylor checks the houses, gets her men to see if there's anything that might be worth taking before bulldozing it. The goods will be used later on to fix the Capitol again.

Paylor even lets me bulldoze a few houses, and I can't help but to smile, running over the house of a citizen. Smiling feels strange.

A lot of things are strange.

At one house, Paylor's men come running out to Paylor and I.  
"It's Tigris, President Paylor! She says she needs backup!" The men call out to Paylor. She looks at me and signals me to come in with her. I doubt she would've let me stay outside with a bulldozer next to the house they were all in.

Reluctantly, I fall in step behind Paylor.

_Do. Not. Think. About. Finnick._

It takes every fibre of my feeling to step into this Capitol citizen's house, remembering all too easily how I used to step into the houses of countless citizens. What I would do. What _we _would do.

Paylor notices my internal struggle and turns back to me.

"Don't worry, Anxol. She's a trusted Capitol citizen. She helped out in the rebellion." She extends a hand to me, ready to guide me. "She doesn't go out too much, anyways."

I take a deep breath and take Paylor's outstretched hand. She smiles when I take it, and she leads me to the depths of the small, cramped house-store.

Inside, I see a crazed Capitol woman, tattooed exactly with the designs of a tiger. She even had a tail, swishing back and forth, eyes yellow slits. I assumed this was Tigris. Her name clearly fit with her appearance.

She looks frantic and relieved, and does a small double take when she sees me.

"You're Angel, right?" She asks me, staring at me with those disturbing cat eyes.

"Not anymore." I replied quietly, following Paylor upstairs, to an attic above Tigris' store where the men climbed in a frenzied, urgent manner.

Paylor climbs up first, and helps pull me up into the small, cramped room. When I reach the top, I freeze in my tracks.

In the middle of the room, nestled in bleeding white sheets, was Finnick.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Thank you so much for all of your reviews - no matter what you said in them; whether it was an opinion, a suggestion, or a critique; I value them all. So, thank you so much for them.

And after reading all the reviews for the previous chapter, I just had to post up a new chapter earlier than usual. It was the least I could do after the last chapter.

Did I ever mention how sorry I am for the last chapter. I. Am. _So. _Sorry. Really. _Sorry. _Hopefully this chapter makes up for it, sort of? Not really, since I left off at a cliff-hanger-ish thing place whatever.

Anyways, well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you all on pins and needles until tomorrow when I post the next chapter up.

Any questions? Comments? Suggestions? Feedback? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	19. Waiting

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**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games trilogy.**

* * *

I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water. It can't be him. Finnick Odair is dead, and I am a widow who has been in mourning for the past month. Finnick died helping Panem, and he was lost. He _is_ lost.

But he is here, barely three feet in front of me. Paylor and the rebels make way for me, and I walk on shaky legs towards him.

My fingers are trembling violently when I reach out to touch him. He has the same features as Finnick; bronze hair, sculpted cheekbones, strong jaw. The same lips. The same nose. But this is not Finnick. Finnick is dead, he is gone, he has left me to join Enkol. Finnick does not have a long scar running across his nose. He does not have that nasty gash on his cheek.

And most importantly, _Finnick is dead._

But looking at this man lying in front of me, I let myself hope that he is Finnick. He looks like him.

I have found him. I have found his body, but I have still lost the man that I love.

He's still lost.

Some footsteps clunk up to the attic. We all turn around to see Tigris.

"You're lucky, doll." She purrs, her voice deep and rich. "He managed to crawl back here before he bled to death."  
"He's...?" I manage to choke out. I hold my breath, not even daring to hope for the answer I want.

"Yes, honey. He's still alive. Not by much, though." Tigris purrs, walking over to Finnick, peeling off the blanket of covers. I gasp out loud, my hands automatically flying to my mouth.

His body, battered. Holes in his arms, his legs, a few in his chest. The blood is cleaned out, but I can see the flesh, pulsing, exposed to the air it shouldn't be seeing. Holes from bullets. From guns.

My mind is already making up scenarios. I can feel the visions sneaking their way to my eyes, to my brain, to drive me insane, to break me all over again. Scenarios of Finnick, getting shot multiple times over and over and over again; blood and guts and empty eyes and death.

Paylor seems to have sense my coming visions because she places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and squeezes it tightly, an anchor that I can hold on to. A weak one, as they all seemed to be in comparison to Finnick, but an anchor nevertheless.

"Three to the right arm. Two to the left. One on his left shoulder, and one on his right hip. Two on his right leg and three on his left." Tigris lists out the horrible statistics.

I stare up at my husband's face, asleep, unconscious; you would have thought he was dead, he was so pale. Still. Unmoving. Bloodless. How is it that he is alive? Look at the bullet wounds. All the holes. It's one of my nightmares come true, one of the visions that I have imagined in my dark time.

Now I am living in it. They threaten to take over me again, after these months of trying to keep them at bay. I force myself to listen to Tigris, focus on the words. I hold Finnick's limp hand as a support.

"He was conscious for the first few days, if that's what you're wondering." Tigris looks to me, at the horror in my face. "But then after that, he's been in a coma."

Paylor checks on Finnick, assessing his wounds. Then she commands the men to immediately take him back to the hospital wing they have at the Capitol, as they have at least one in every district.

The men move Finnick and the bed quickly, gone in a flash. Only me, Tigris, and Paylor are left in the attic.

The tears start coming again. I can't help it. He's alive. He's alive. He will come back to me. After so many days of believing that he was gone, that he had left me forever, and now - he's back, he's alive, he's breathing and he's _home. _

"Oh, honey, don't cry." Tigris purrs, reaching out towards me. "He dragged himself back here, miraculously. You know the entire Star Squad was here, right? Well, he must've remembered where it was, because he came back, all bloody with the bullets."  
I accept her embrace, dumbfounded at all the information I was taking in. _Alive. Alive. _

"In the first few days of consciousness, he managed to tell me the Peacekeepers got him. And by the looks of it, they got him good. If it weren't for that vest he was wearing, he would have been dead for sure." Tigris explains, patting my back. "He kept on mumbling something about an angel, dear."  
I can see Paylor smiling faintly.

"Did you try contacting any of the authorities after the rebellion was over?" Paylor asks Tigris.

"Of course I did, honey. What did you think I did? I patched him up the best I could, but no one ever came when I tried contacting them." Tigris almost growls. "And plus, I couldn't go too far, now, could I? I had to watch over him."

"You did a good job, Tigris."

"Thank you. I had a few friends over who managed to scrounge up some equipment. Lucky for me I learned fast!" Tigris laughs. "I told them to send the news of him, but I guess you never received it."

I glance over and see the makeshift machines that Tigris managed to whip up. A machine that fed and hydrated him. Bandages all rolled up in the corner, some bottles of ointment on the side. There was no machine to check if he was breathing; Tigris must have sat next to him all day to check.  
"I guess not. But this is amazing, Tigris. Thank you so much." Paylor nods formally to her.

"Thank you." I gasp out, finally getting the words out. My voice was working again, rough and scratchy. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, doll. Now you'd better rush to the hospital; I'm sure you're the first thing he wants to see when he wakes up." Tigris purrs, smiling as her tail swishes back and forth.

Paylor nods in agreement, and the two of us quickly follow Paylor's men to the hospital wing.

He is sent to the emergency area, where the most wounded stay.

The doctors tell me that he is hanging onto life. He is alive, and that some men have suffered more bullets and lived. He won't need any artificial body parts, like Peeta's leg, but he might need a few metal limbs.

They treat him the best they can and hook him up to the official machines.

I pull a chair over and sit next to him, holding his rough, callused, familiar hand.

And now, I wait.

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Thanks for reading!

Sorry if this chapter was a bit short. I wasn't completely sure as to what to add, and I'm feeling quite un-eloquent right now. I would've expanded on how Anxol felt, but I had a mild case of writer's block and I didn't want to screw up the chapter even more. I'm pretty sure that the next few chapters will be quite short in length as well, since we're nearing the end of this sub-story.

Speaking of the end of this sub-story, how are you guys feeling about that? As I mentioned in a few previous chapters, I pointed out that if you wanted a prologue or epilogue sub-story to accompany this series, feel free to leave me a review or a message about your opinion! Thanks so much to all who have left one so far! Your feedback and suggestions are immensely helpful; thank you so much!

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Next chapter up tomorrow!


	20. Promise

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**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Finnick's POV

It's an internal battle.

Me, fighting against my fears. Against the darkness threatening to take over my body and mind. Fighting against my worries, against all the troubles plaguing my mind.

_What if we didn't win? What if Snow is just keeping me alive to sell me some more? What if he's tortured Anxol again? What will happen to little Donnie, and all the rebels? Is Anxol crying? Screaming? Dying? I am not there to hold her. _

_What if I wake up to a world worse than the one I left?_

I was fighting my own mind. The worries, the fears, they became the darkness that threatened to engulf me.

And I allowed it to.

_They're killing her right now. She's in a puddle of her own blood, calling out my name. But when I wake up, Snow will sell me, sell her, kill her, and let me live with the guilt of knowing my love cost her her life. _

_Katniss is dead. Peeta is now the faithful soldier to Snow. Haymitch drowns in a sea of liquor. Donnie's corpse is staring at the sea. Beetee, chained, forced to work for Snow. Johanna, sold against her will, and on the brink of death. Anxol, shackled, watching as her world - both reality and the one in her mind - shatters to a million pieces._

_She has to put it all together again._

_What if she's already dead? What if they're all dead? What if I'm the only one left, and only kept alive to suffer, to be sold again?_

_Do I want to wake up to that world?_

My mind makes up my own scenarios, each one worse than the last. More graphic. More terrible. More vivid. Is this what Anxol went through? Is this what was swirling in her mind? How did she do it, how did she not succumb to the visions and come back to me; come back to me, half-broken, but still a part of her alive? I can't fend off these scenarios. They overtake me, swallow me whole.

But beneath the darkness that swallowed me, Anxol's voice rings out, as clear and bright as bells.

_But what if you've won? What if Snow is dead and Katniss is alive? What if everyone is waiting for you? What if there is no more Hunger Games, and no more killing? What if when you wake up, the world is better?_

_Not all what-ifs are bad, Finnick._

And her sweet voice is enough to rouse me. Enough to keep me going, fighting the fears that now howl and scream as I conquer them all.

She encourages me, encourages me to fight against my fears. She is by my side, watching me as I kill them all one by one. Her voice echoes in my head, over and over again. It is distant, as if the wind carried her voice to me; here in spirit but not in flesh.

_Come back home. Come back home. Come back home. Come back home._

And then, after what feels like years of fighting, her voice is next to me, clearer than ever, losing its fuzzy, distant quality.

_Come back home._

And I know I've won.

**.**

My eyelids feel like they've been glued closed with cement. It takes every ounce of my strength to pry them apart. My body feels like it's been through hell and back, ten times over. Every single part of me hurts, uncontrollable throbbing pain.

It takes another ten seconds for the world to stop spinning and for things to go into focus.

The first thing I see is an angel.

Her cheek are sunken, eyes ringed with black circles, her face gaunt with worry. But I don't notice this, don't notice the flaws.

Her skin is as pale as snow, hair cascading down her face in white-blonde gossamer tresses. Her eyes are wide, a beautiful, piercing pale grey; framed by long blonde eyelashes. Soft pink lips. High cheekbones. Strong jaw.

Ethereal. Otherworldly. Sublime. Celestial.

She is the most divine creature that I have ever seen.

Her pink lips form words. I strain to hear it, understand it.

"Finnick. You came back home." She whispers, her voice soft like the wind, melodic. Her eyes are so filled with happiness and hope, and I am glad I gave this beautiful angel this happiness.

Finnick. My name. Who I was. Am. Suddenly, everything comes rushing back.

Anxol. My angel. My Angelfish. My wife. I left her to fight, and I promised to come back.

We're married. My Angelfish, who had the ocean but chose me, the lost fisherman.

"You came back to me, Angelfish." I manage to croak out, my voice scratchy and hoarse. I tuck a strand of loose hair back behind her ears, and she smiles, tears glimmering in her eyes. "You came back and found me."

She laughs, crying. A mix of laughter and tears, her hands never leaving mine. I don't move my hand from her face, like an anchor to make sure I'm not dreaming.

"Oh, Finn. Of course I did. I promised to always come back to you, didn't I? And you promised to come back home to me." Anxol says softly, tears of happiness falling from her eyes.

"I guess we both kept our promises, then." I grin at her, even though grinning makes my face hurt.

"Can we make a new promise now?" She asks, smiling though her eyes shine with tears of happiness.

I nod. My neck feels broken, sore all over. But looking at Anxol balms all the pain, makes me forget everything except me and her in this world.

"I promise to never leave your side as we start a new life together in this beautiful, new world." She presses her forehead gently onto mine, whispering her words only loud enough for me to hear, her breath sending shivers down my spine. "Do you promise the same?"

I smile and nod faintly, taking in everything about her. What I had almost lost. What was now mine to have in this world that will not take from me.

She smiles and presses her lips to mine gently, soft, like a butterfly, sealing our promises together once more.

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Thanks for reading!

Short chapter again, argh, yes, I know. Sorry ):

Anyways, this will be the second-last chapter posted up for this sub-story. Tomorrow's chapter (aka the next chapter) will be the epilogue.

I will be starting a new sub-story (I know, I know, how many can I do before I just _stop?_) that will be a prologue to this series, so basically it will take place before 'The Girl Who Set the Spark.' I'll be posting up more details about it in the next chapter once I've gotten everything sorted out.

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to leave it as a review!

Next (and final, noooo) chapter up tomorrow!


	21. Epilogue

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**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

We roll around in the sand, closer and closer to the pounding waves beside us, the soundtrack to our lives. I laugh when he pins me down, kissing me on the lips, laughter dancing in his bright green eyes. His bronze hair flies around in the wind, his limbs showing no sign of the metal where the bone should be.

A little boy, only five years old, is a walking reflection of his father. Finnick says our daughter, who is two, is a mirror of myself.

The little boy shares not only his father's looks, but also his name. That's just how you do it in Four, isn't it?

My children build sandcastles on the beach, the same way Panem rebuilt itself. Slowly, carefully, but pieced together in the end. A masterpiece. We make sure it is never washed away by the waves that threaten to engulf it.

President Paylor is quick to invite us to the Capitol and send us gifts; the wise, just ruler of Panem. Johanna is not a frequent visitor in our home, but we are ones in hers. Peeta and Katniss send their love and treats, and their children play with ours when they are guests in our home. Beetee, who has become a grandfather to my beautiful little sister Donnie, they both send gifts and the latest gadgets, and Donnie sends her love with letters every week and frequent visits. We are family, after all.

Finnick and I keep to our promises. We are together, and we both help each other heal.

Panem heals, too, and Finnick and I help restore it. But this time, for the better. There is a wall, a statue, in every district, with the names of all that were lost in the long making of this new world. The lives that were sacrificed, engraved into stone as heroes. Books filled with names of heroes and their deeds, a reminder, to never forget them - even past death.

Finnick and I are content with our lives, a life filled with kisses, happiness, and laughter. Of course, the waves get rough at times, but he promised to be with me during the storms, and I promised to never to leave his side. We are a family, and to Finnick, we will always be his Angelfish, Bubbles, and Sharkfin. To me, all three of them are the light of my life.

The nightmares no longer exist. The visions are less frequent, until they ultimately stop, the last of Snow gone from me at last. With Finnick, he douses any fear, any doubt, any last remains of Snow and the dark chamber of torture. He holds me close when I would shake at night, or when I would cry in my sleep.

I hold my baby daughter in my arms, as my husband holds me tight, his hand resting on my son's shoulder. Our old families are no longer with us, but Finnick and I have made our own, together. A family that loves, one that stands in a world where there is no more Hunger Games. We'll have to tell them one day, for they will hear about the rebellion that gained them their freedom.

The past is not forgotten, but it not taken out to be remembered often. It made me who I am today, gave me what I have today, but I prefer to look out to the horizon and think of tomorrow.

There's no fairytale ending when the girl is in pieces and her world has just finished crumbling around her. There is no happily ever after when hundreds have died and when she has seen blood on the streets of her home.

But there is life, and there is fixing it.

And piece by piece, put together with Finnick by my side, I make the masterpiece of my life.

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Thanks for reading!

Ah! Sorry if the ending was a bit weird and short. Sorry ): I'm not too good with writing endings or beginnings. Or middles, either. Or like, writing in general.

ANYWAYS, thank you all SO SO much for reading this far! Whether you have stuck through it since Day 1, or if you've been reading all the sub-stories in one day, I thank you all very much. I really do appreciate it. And to all of those who have reviewed - massive, brilliant, amazing, BEST thanks EVER. Because I never, in a million years, expected this many reviews. Special thanks to _bbymojo_, _Claire Thomas_, and _Sweet Corruption_ for reviewing every chapter! You guys are amazing. Go check out all of their stories! (: And if you have put the story as a favourite or put it as a story alert, or put me as a favourite author or as an author alert, THANK YOU. Basically, if you are reading these words now, THANK YOU SO MUCH.

For the next sub-story (I know, I know), it will be posted 3 days from now. And it'll be called 'Contrast' so keep an eye out for that if you want to read it. It'll be a prologue sub-story to the whole series, so it'll basically take place before 'The Girl Who Set the Spark'. For now, I'm pretty sure that it'll be told mainly in Enkol's point of view, with a bit of Finnick's point of view in there. If you have any other suggestions, please let me know!

Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Suggestions? Feel free to let me know in a review!

Thank you so much for reading again, and see you again in three days!


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